All That Lies Beyond Eyesight
by yoo-hoo luver.wlegs
Summary: After taking a 2nd castle, the Pevensies find themselves at the mercy of a demonic entity who's bent on revenge. Chapter 18: Lihi isn't in the shadows anymore...
1. More than a nightmare?

**Disclaimer: C.S. Lewis is the one to credit everything Narnia related, not me.**

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Mr. Beaver cast a pleading look at Mr. Tumnus, urging him to take up the cause and nag their Majesties a little further. The four monarchs had retired from an open claims court quite exhausted. They had hearts for all of their subjects but the open claims court allowed Narnians to plead their grievances to the four. The scope of the grievances was great and more often than not, the Magnificent, the Gentle, the Just and the Valiant heard more domestic squabbles than anything else. Mr. Beaver knew that lobbying the fact that an off season castle was imperative would fall on eight deaf ears after the taxing session in court.

"Consider it this way Your Highnesses," Mr. Tumnus began briskly. "You've ruled Narnia justly and fairly from Cair Paravel for five years now. And quite frankly, it is imperative that you set up court in another location for several months out of the year."

Beaver nodded and added enthusiastically with wide paw gestures, "He's bloomin' right, ya know. We can't keep you here in the Cair while there are Narnians in villages that haven't even seen ya yet."

The two paused to let the information sink in. The Pevensies had long since flopped on the cool sands of the beach, worn from hearing about goat ownerships. Susan was leaning back on her elbows, drinking in the last vestiges of the sun's warmth whereas Edmund had taken the less refined approach and sprawled out on the sand. He didn't seem to mind the ground earth sticking to his fine formal attire nor its presence in his dark hair. The High King had a little bit more respect for his fine attire and rolled up the legs of his trousers before unceremoniously flopping down on the other side of Edmund. The youngest monarch of Narnia had decided to use her sister's legs as a pillow and had laid down on the sand. Her eyes were affixed on the horizon and had a vacant look about them. Tumnus had observed his little friend's withdrawn reactions over the past few days and hoped that the Valiant was not ailing.

"You know," Peter began, "I've come to agree with you Tumnus. Having a second court in Narnia will illustrate our power as monarchs, unite the people even more and most importantly provide a change in scenery." He looked at his brother and sisters for affirmation but only got an uninterpretable grunt from Edmund and a mumble from Lucy that sounded oddly like "trout". Knowing that was going to be the most coherent response from them Peter turned back to Tumnus and Beaver. "Let it be so." He told them wearily as he massaged his brow in an attempt to clear the headache that had descended upon him somewhere between the honey tree dispute and which nanny goat got the kid. The line sounded like a well worn mattress, the High King had said it so many times within the past five years.

Beaver and Mr. Tumnus bowed low, beaming at the decision and promptly left the spent monarchs to sort through their own thoughts and enjoy the sunset. The siblings sat watching the surf's vain attempts to grab their ankles. With in five years since entering Narnia, there had been some changes to the four, some more pronounced than others. Peter had grown robust and tall at seventeen-almost eighteen. He had refrained from growing a beard as many advisors suggested against. For some reason facial hair was intimidating to foreign dignitaries and gave the illusion of age. The High King was still unfailingly protective of his family and even more so since Susan at sixteen was beginning to get serious suitors calling. She had only grown lovelier as the years went by and dignitaries from farther away admitted to her that her beauty was renowned.

"I can just crawl in bed and sleep for days." She told the others with a sigh. The wind blew her dark hair out of her plait.

Ed gave a grunt from his position. "Not me," he replied with an easy nonchalant tone, "I can just sleep right here. I always forget how trying these open courts can get." It was a false act for the three knew that deep down Ed's passion was justice. At fifteen Edmund had all but shed the last vestiges of childhood save for his freckles; the bane of his existence. There was a pause before Edmund continued, looking at Peter out of the corner of his eyes. "Say, Peter, can you do me a favor?"

The High King cast a flat look at his brother. "I'm not carrying you back up to the Cair if that's what your thinking." He told Edmund frankly. Susan laughed, tossing her head back in amusement and letting go of the demure front she had in court. She ruffled Edmund's hair (much to his protests) and announced that Peter carrying Edmund piggy back would be a sight to see indeed.

"Shut thy mouth, dear sister." Edmund grumped in the formal dialect they employed at state affairs. The Just king took a hand full of fine wet sand and tossed at the back of his elder sister's head. Susan gasped as the muck hit her right cheek just as she turned to look at her younger brother. She reached over Lucy, who was on the other side of her, to reach a hand full of sand but was stayed by the youngest Pevensie breaking her silence.

"Stop." Came the very un-Lucy-like plead. Her head still rested on Susan's legs, the young queen's red hair spilling about her head like a shoulder blade length halo. For the past few days, her older siblings had noticed that Lucy was becoming more withdrawn from everyone, preferring silence over her happy chattering. She rolled on her side, facing away from the three concerned faces and absentmindedly nestled her face in the fabric of Susan's skirts. "Stop, please." Lucy repeated, her voice mumbled from the fabrics. With in the past few years, Lucy had not really changed much. Yes, she had just barely turned thirteen and was beginning to get a more hourglass figure, but her personality was still enticing and electric. Her still innocent mind set had won her the loyalty and friendship of all who met the young queen.

Peter exchanged worried glances with Susan. Instantly the eldest queen's hand touched Lucy's forehead, searching for any signs of fever. She didn't have to inquire if Lucy was feeling alright, the Valiant knew the unsaid sentence forming on her sister's lips.

"I'm fine." Lucy assured Peter and Susan unconvincingly, still buried in the yards of white eyelet linen and pale yellow silk of Susan's gown.

"You haven't really been yourself, Lu." Peter explained with the kind concern that only an older brother could master. "You've been a virtual recluse only coming out of your chambers for meals and official events. Are you…sure nothing is wrong?"

"I think I of all people would know how I feel, Peter." Lucy replied uncharacteristically tarty as she turned her head to look out to the sea. Her hand hastily wiped a stray tear but not before her siblings took notice.

"Maybe its indigestion." Edmund quipped out of the blue while absentmindedly flicking grains of sand from his sleeves. The looks from the two older Pevensies silenced him and the four sat in an uneasy stillness. At length Edmund sighed and stood up. "You guys remember a few years ago when that rogue shark kept attacking the Naiads? And the only witness was a giant clam who was brought to our piers against his will to testify?"

"What has that got to do with the price of lentils in Tashbaan, Ed?" Susan asked flatly. She was gravely concerned with Lucy's behavior and could not help but know that something was weighing so heavily on the thirteen year old that she could scarcely stand it anymore. It was not time for Edmund's stories.

"Recall how hard we had to sweet talk that clam and no matter how we pampered Leroy he wouldn't speak of the crimes until he was good and ready?" Edmund pressed stubbornly as he brushed off the sand that stuck to him. There were times at court where Edmund would use the same tactic when he wanted to make a point. They were spontaneous parables that did not seem to tie in with the situation until he had explained it and then it would make perfect sense. Unfortunately this was one of those times and Peter had no time for beating around the bush.

"Aye," he agreed tensely, deciding that he had no time for this, "What of it?"

"Leroy only testified when he was ready." Edmund continued doggedly, "And Lucy is no different from a clam."

A pale hand shot out from Lucy's fanned out hair and hit Edmund in the shin sharply. "I resent that." She told him with a small smile on her face.

Edmund gave a smirk back and joked that the resemblance was uncanny. The four smirked and settled into a silence that lasted until the last rays of the sun dipped beyond the ocean. At length Peter stood up and stretched his arms to the darkening sky. A loud and uncomely yawn announced that he was ready for bed. Within moments Edmund followed suit.

Susan stifled a yawn and shifted her weight to prompt Lucy to get off of her numbing legs. When her sister did not get up, Susan gently raked her hand through Lucy's flamed hair. "Dear one, its time for bed." She whispered to her sister as she gently shook her shoulder to rouse her sister. Instead of sitting up however, Susan felt her sister stiffen. The eldest queen looked to her brothers who were almost out of hearing range and unaware that Lucy wasn't ready to leave the shore. "Su," Narnia's youngest queen began hesitantly, her eyes looking vacantly at the sea, " Can I talk to you in private for a bit?"

With in a heartbeat the elder Pevensie girl agreed and turned at Peter's hollered question of if they were coming. Assuring her brothers that they would catch up, Susan cast her attention to Lucy who had sat up, tears streaking her face in the rising moonlight. Something had upset Lucy, Susan was certain of that with one look at her face and she wracked her mind for instances that would have disconcerted the young teen.

Softly, Susan reached up and wiped away a small tear halfway through its pilgrimage down the bridge of her sister's nose. "Now," the elder began in her best 'mothering' tone, "Would you like to tell me what this is all about, Lu?"

Tears began to spill like a flood onto Susan's gown and the sand. A sob racked the girl's body as she set her head on her big sister's shoulder, unable to say what was ailing her. It was beyond instinct that Susan stroked Lucy's hair. Her strokes fell into a rhythm with the crash of the waves and her periodical hushing and she began rocking Lucy like the night they sat weeping at the Stone Table. The Gentle was at a loss to say and all she could do was sway back and forth, the concerned lines on her forehead deepening in a helpless confusion.

"I…I keep seeing it when ever I sleep." Lucy began shakily at last. Sobs still wracked her form as she spoke. "It is a nightmare I can't shake, Su. Every time I close my eyes it is there haunting me…I-I can't have a moment's rest with out it hounding me."

Susan instinctively picked up the pace of her swaying as she swallowed a lump forming in her throat. Quietly, she asked Lucy what the nightmare was that tormented her so. Slowly but surely a disturbing tale began to take form between sobs.

"We were in this great hall…but not Cair Paravel's. It-it was smaller, more intimate but finely crafted. It looked as if we were having a ball with all of our subjects and you, Ed and I had already descended this grand spiral staircase. There was a fanfare and as Peter begins to descend the staircase, and all of our subjects bow in respect. Then out of nowhere, some-some force _lifts_ Peter off of the ground he stood on and he is pressed against one of the stone walls, gasping for breath. There was screaming and wailing all around us and oh! Susan, the wails were so chilling so…unearthly. While we were crying out in horror and sobbing to-to put Peter down, Edmund lead Oreius and the other guards to the base of the stairs, with their swords drawn to fight a foe we can not see." Lucy paused and even though Susan's very soul longed to beg Lucy to not tell her anymore, she could not bring herself to it. It was all she could do but listen in horror as the nightmare took a turn for the worst. "Over the din of everything I heard you cry out, 'In the name of the Great Lion, Aslan, I demand you put him down.' And….and then in a drop of a hat, the spirit complied and Peter was thrown to the base of the steps….ri-r-right on Edmund's battle ready sword. By the time we….by the time you and I got there, Peter had…."

As if released from its confinements, Susan found her voice as she tightened her embrace. "Hush dear one." She whispered, cloaking her own fear at the ghastly dream. It was no wonder Lucy was withdrawn, Susan thought to herself, such a night terror would shake even Narnia's bravest. "You needn't tell me anymore, please."

The two sat in the descending light. Disturbed by the revelation herself, Susan hid her amounting fear and continued to wordlessly rock her sister back and forth until sleep over took them both.

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**A/N: Yes, I understand it's a little too early for Halloween. But we all know me…things will get done eventually. Eventually being the key word. I'm really bad at deadlines and I have several ed psych group projects on the horizon and a field date to observe coming up. So I guess a head start is needed. let's see if I can get this fic done before Halloween, shall we? Please review and tell me what you think.**


	2. Tales most foul

An annoying jab in the arm roused Lucy from the first dreamless sleep she had had in months. It ceased for a moment and the young queen allowed herself to sink further into the darkness of sleep. And then the jab in her arm was back, pausing for a moment and then resuming with a single crisp poke. After a few moments, Lucy found she could not ignore the persistent poking for another moment and snapped her dark eyes open.

"Your Highness." A tern by the name of Clyde greeted her with a tilt of his beaked head. Beside the Young queen, Susan shifted her weight and attempted to brush sand from her hair. The moon had climbed a fair amount since they had accidentally fallen asleep and as sleep's daze began to wane, Lucy realized that the annoying poking was that of the bird trying to rouse the two queens.

"By the Lion!" Susan yawned as she attempted to stretch. "How long were we asleep here, Clyde?"

"I know not, my Queen." Replied the water fowl, "But your royal brother, the most noble High King, sent me here to rouse you before the tide advances more."

"Thank you most kindly Clyde." Susan told him genuinely as if to politely dismiss him and then cast a look at her sister before saying irritably, "Lu, get off my legs!"

"Your royal brother, the most noble High King, bade me to escort my gracious queens to the castle." Clyde told them as the girls stood up. Clyde was a noble bird but being the body guard of choice when the monarchs were on the shore, Clyde was a bird of structure. He was a stiff little thing and took his orders exclusively from Peter. If the three younger Pevensies made any type of movement near the shore, Clyde observed it. His ability to be everywhere was as vexing as was his long windedness but his presence was welcome.

The three made their way back to Cair Paravel in the moonlight. While Clyde flew literally overhead, Susan put her arm around her little sister's shoulders in a silent way of encouragement and the single act lifted the Valiant up. With the burden of the horrific dream lessened by another person sharing the load, Lucy felt almost at ease. Placing her head on Susan's shoulder, she began to whistle a Narnian folk song.

"My Lady!" Clyde scolded from above without warning. A slight trace of fear and urgency was hinted in his voice. "Cease from that with all haste, please!" It was unusual for any Narnian but the close circle that nurtured and taught the four siblings the ropes to take a scolding tone at any of the four. Lucy gave Clyde a quizzical look, unsure what her transgression was. At length Clyde elaborated, "We Narnians were taught to not whistle past sunset."

"Why ever not?" Susan wondered with a small giggle, amazed that she had not heard of the tradition for five years in the country. Surely Mrs. Beaver or Mr. Tumnus, who often spoke of Narnian traditions to the four, would have mentioned it to them.

When Clyde spoke, it was hesitantly and the sisters felt that he was not telling them the entire truth. "It has long been said that a spirit known solely as Madame Lihi would travel through out Narnia in the dead of night, searching for young Narnians to devour. Ever since I was in the nest, my Mam would warn me to never whistle or sing after sunset for Madame Lihi would be lured by the whistling and take me away. Nobody has been taken since before the Long Winter, but mothers still teach their chicks to never whistle or sing at night. " The tern explained and landed on an archway that led into a garden and ultimately the castle. "I leave you here, my Ladies." Clyde continued, "I trust that you will have a pleasant tomorrow, your Graces."

Susan thanked Clyde for escorting them back and then turned her attention to her sister. "Come on, you." She said fondly as Lucy stifled a yawn. She gently tapped her sister on the head with the palm of her hand before she began leading Lucy through the archway. "Let's see if we could get you to your chambers before you fall asleep on the stairwell, huh?"

Several minutes later, Susan quietly walked down the corridor from Lucy's bedchambers to her own. Her sister had been grateful for being able to confide in her and already was getting back to her cheery self. Unfortunately the whole ordeal had led Susan to ponder what had caused such night terrors. She longed to confide, herself, in one of her brothers but Lucy had sworn Susan to secrecy on the matter.

Her thoughts swarmed as she slid into her large state bed. Susan had always been a practical thinker and was worried that her sister would take the dream literally. She recalled reading a book a long time ago stating that dreams were simply an abstract manifestation of one's thoughts. Whether or not she believed the book was another story. "On the other hand," Susan told the ceiling in a rational tone, "If Lucy's dreams are abstract then that means that she has no cause to fear them coming to pass. An unseen force could possibly symbolize the trauma of becoming an adult." She paused and sighed in frustration. The book she had gleaned this information from was read and unfortunately lost years ago. And although she knew that clinging to that idea would certainly put both her and Lucy at ease, it just seemed silly to write such a horrible dream off as merely abstract and Susan told her confidant, the ceiling, so. "But what happens if I down play it and the dream ends up being a prophetic vision?" she paused and let her raised arms flop on her silk sheets before continuing, "Then I'd might as well have pulled the sword myself. Oh! This is absolutely ridiculous!" Susan flopped her head on her pillow for emphasis of her point. She couldn't just lie there and not act, even if the notion of the dream being abstract _was_ silly.

Susan sighed and laid in silence while wracking her brain to think of any written proof that would help her decode the dream. Certainly Narnia did not have any texts on dream interpretation. It was an impasse, one that she could not figure out when her mind and body demanded that she sleep. The Gentle heaved a sigh and resolved to figure a way to decode the dream with out breaking her vow of secrecy to her sister. Once she had already settled in the covers a little thought hit her. Angrily, she kicked off the covers and reached for her shawl. "It won't work." The queen told the ceiling, referring to the prospect of sleep. With a sigh, Susan hastily lit a candle before walking noiselessly past her guards at her door. They nodded in greeting but did not say a word. She knew it was impossible to shake them, the faun and the cougar would follow her where ever she went in the castle. Besides, it wasn't as if what she was going to do was frowned upon. A little research never hurt anyone and she was certain she saw something on Calmoren dream interpretation in the royal library.

The text was not easy to find in the vast shelves of the royal library where she had made a point to collect texts from all for corners of the map. At length Susan settled in an arm chair and propped the book on her legs to see the print better in the dim light. It was a tedious text, placing "falling" dreams before dreams of "apple picking" and of course it had to be written in the longwinded style the desert dwellers made annoyingly famous.

Susan could not discern when the neat printed words shifted together, forming a long blurry word. Nor was she certain when her royal head drooped low and sleep overtook her. It was concrete, however what time it was when she felt the poke of her elder brother on her head; it was before sunrise. Giving an annoyed sound, Susan shifted her weight in the chair. "What?" She mumbled, her accent growing a bit cockney-ed from sleep and annoyance.

"Do plan to make falling asleep in various places a habit? Or should I tell Mrs. Beaver to hold up making the mattress for the battlements?" Peter asked her easily. The slight hint of annoyance in his voice caused her to open her eyes and gaze dazedly at her brother.

"Well, if my sleeping pattern vexes you…" She shot back realizing that her point was lost after the second syllable of 'sleeping'.

Peter frowned and snatched the text from Susan's lap before she could think of reacting. He silently read the hidden meaning of a dream consisting of phonetically correct mops and the High King cocked and eyebrow. "Having dreams about being an effective public speaker, are we?" he asked as his eyes grazed the page of the Calmoren book. Peter paused and gave her a pointed look from over the book, causing Susan to squirm under his gaze. It was a look that Mum had employed in days past and one that the High King had mastered. "Su," He began out of nowhere, "there's nothing you're not telling me, is there?"

"What could I possibly hide from you with the legions of spies like Clyde you got around Narnia?"

"You know what ails Lucy." He told her simply. It was a simple accusation but Peter's tone sounded hurt. The four generally shared every aspect of their lives and up until then they shared an open relationship. The fact that Lucy had confided in Susan rather than all of them bothered the High King.

His sister gave a short laugh and looked into her lap. Had she not promised Lucy she would not tell of the grizzly dream, she still would have told a falsehood. It was better for Peter and Edmund not to worry about a vision. Especially one concerning Peter's demise. "It's nothing. It's just a female thing, tis all." She lied, letting the blood rush to her cheeks at the suggestion of the female anatomy.

The High King looked slightly taken aback at the confession and decided that it was best that he and Edmund were not involved in this matter. A brief moment of silence fell between the two before Peter stood up and offered his sister a hand. "Well, I suppose we should go down to breakfast. Mr. Tumnus and Mr. Beaver no doubt had spread the word of a second castle to every soul in the Cair. Last I heard Waylon had the cartographers scattering about to find proper maps of Narnia of all uses."

"Twill be an eventful breakfast, then." Susan replied as she stood up, grateful that the grisly dream that depicted Peter's death was still a secret.

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Toast and pomegranate jam was the most delicious four words in the English language to Edmund. With the fruit not being native to Narnia, the idea of pomegranate put into preserves was a rare one. But nonetheless, King Edmund adored it.

He sat at his high seat in the great hall, listening to Waylon, a man who was brilliant at public relations both in Narnia and abroad, prattle off the advantages of placing the new castle within the North Eastern reaches of the kingdom. Edmund unobtrusively observed the various creatures around the long breakfast table, taking note that Waylon's wife, Dores seemed to be most uncomfortable sitting in the straight backed chairs at the last stretch of her pregnancy and how Betsy Peahen's four chicks displayed the traits that their mother, grandmother and aunts were renowned for. He noticed how Rumblebuffin the giant (who was forced to squat a little in order to fit into the Great Hall shifted his weight as inconspicuously as he could from one knee to the other. It was obvious that the giant's knees gave him much grief.

As Lucy protested the notion of building a brand new structure when so many lovely abandoned keeps dotted the country side, Edmund felt the undeniable presence of Oreius from behind. The aging centaur did not have to utter a single word; Edmund knew that his mentor's presence demanded the young king to pay attention. When a question was tossed his way, Edmund hastily shoved the toast with jam into his mouth to cover the fact that he really was oblivious to the conversation at hand. Mumbling his agreement to what ever it was he swallowed the toasted bread hard, taking full notice that Susan seemed more intent on something in her lap than casting a scolding look at him.

The centaur did not move from his vigilant position behind Edmund's chair and the fifteen year old king found himself tuning in at the end of the discussion.

"It is decided then." Peter summed up wearily, "We'll schedule a ride for the Marshlands later this week and with luck we'll find an old keep to spruce up." He reached for his goblet of cider, indicating that the conference was over. With in moments the hall was emptied, leaving the four and their bodyguards standing watch at a respectable distance.

"Next time you decide to bond with your breakfast, Ed, make sure you can come up with a better cover." Susan told him scoldingly as she broke a piece of crust to dip in her soft cooked egg. It was meant to reprimand Edmund's lack of attention span but her long night had taken out all of the bite from the remark. Lucy giggled into her goblet of milk, her eyes dancing mischievously.

"At least my toast is more interesting than your lap, dear sister." Edmund retorted tartly. Susan had no call to scold him when she was doing the same as he during the boring meeting.

Peter opened his mouth to speak but the cry of one of their secretary bird heralds drowned any comment from the High King out. "Vitus, son of Duke Leroy of Muil of the Seven Isles has returned from the Lantern Wastes."

"Send him in, Louis." Peter told the herald, casting a sly look to his siblings from over his goblet.

Originally from the Seven Isles, Vitus had been living in the vicinity of Cair Paravel as a living political treaty from his homeland. His arrival three years ago confused the four monarchs. It wasn't very common in Spare Oom to exchange what Mr. Tumnus called 'political prisoners'. It was all in hopes, Mr. Tumnus explained, that with one of their own in a foreign court it would symbolize that the country sending the youth would not attack while one of their own was on foreign soil. And in return, the host country would treat the foreigner as one of their own. Indeed, most 'political prisoners' were taken in by the royal family and in most cases they married into the royalty. This was not the current case for Vitus however, he had earned the position as the best mate of the High King and was likely to stay so.

"Hey stranger." Lucy called as the grand door opened to reveal a lanky form standing in the threshold. She was had always been friendly to the youth from the Seven Isles, as was her nature. However the lad always had a tendency to treat her like a small child. Even though her brothers and sister did so at times, they eventually acknowledged her wisdom more often than not, a feat that Vitus had yet to achieve. Nevertheless, he was Peter's best mate and told amazing stories. And for that he was more than tolerable in her book.

"My lords, my ladies," Vitus greeted as he depleted the distance between the long table and himself in large strides. He was a fair looking lad with temperamental dirty blonde hair that was getting darker from the Narnian climate and sharp hazel eyes. He had an air of confidence about him mixed into the feeling that he was observing every aspect of his surroundings no matter his position or level of awareness. Indeed he was what his people called a griot; one who was an authority on history and tradition. Griots would perform, Vitus had told them once, in the streets and took several days to run through the country's history as if it were nothing but a song. "I have returned to the Cair unharmed." Vitus announced before flopping down in a vacant chair on Peter's left side.

"Praise the Lion." Susan stated haughtily as she used her spoon to fish out some of the egg white. "Was it last time you went with the Elderly Gentleman on a hunting expedition when you accidentally shot yourself?" Susan found the young political prisoner far less tolerable than her sister did. When the court was not watching and the four had a chance to act their age, it was always Vitus who accompanied Peter in bothering her. Her brother was in essence one of her closest friends in her life but Vitus' presence brought out the cheeky bugger in Peter. She found her greatest weapon against the lad was with edged words which he in turn would match back.

"Thought I was a prize, I did." Vitus replied sarcastically as he popped a grape in his mouth.

"The Elderly Gentleman was about to mount you on one of the great hall's walls, he was." The High King added with a genuine smile and an up to no good look in his gray eyes.

"Did you come back with something for your efforts?" Lucy wondered politely as she reached for the pomegranate jam in which Edmund was loath to give up.

Edmund listened less than intently to Vitus as he launched on a fabricated tale of how he and the Elderly Gentleman snagged a large white stag that granted them a wish. Unfortunately, the fortune that they had wished for was foolishly squandered away in a random Calmoren port and their only choice to make the fare home was to dress in women's clothing.

Truth be told Edmund was rather neutral when it came to Vitus but found his stories a little boring especially first thing in the morning. At length Mr. Tumnus entered the room and announced that it was time for the Kings to review the new recruits for the army and so reluctantly, the two parted, leaving their sisters and the lad from the Seven Isles in a contented silence.

At length Lucy sighed and requested a fact based story from Vitus. With a smile Vitus leaned forward in his seat as if attempting to get on eyelevel and asked in an easy voice, "And what would you like to hear about, my _Lady_?" He put an emphasis on the word 'lady' as if it was a way to make Lucy feel like a 'grown up'. Of course he had always adopted that tone with her and even though she resented it, Lucy was used to it by then.

"Tell us anything you desire." Susan told him, matching his belittling tone. She knew how his inability to see Lucy as anything but a child bothered her sister.

"Did I tell you about Frank II's first wife?" Vitus wondered of the Queens. Lucy shook her head to say 'no' nonverbally and Susan gave Vitus a look suggesting he had grown another head.

"You mistake yourself, Vitus." She told him with her brow furrowed, "King Frank II had only one wife, a nymph, Queen Amaranta and there was certainly nothing to tell of her besides her compassion and generosity."

"And that does not make up a good story." Lucy added with a giggle. "I think you're loosing your touch, Vitus."

The Seven Islander took a sip from a copper goblet before answering, "For your information, your _Highness_, it is a tale that has not been recorded as extensively as other Narnian history. I _am _a griot after all."

"Scandal, most foul." Lucy told Susan seriously with the grin sisters generally shared. "Do tell us."

"Well," Vitus began, reciting the tale, a word for word copy of the text, from memory as if it were but a song, "With in the twentieth year of King Frank's reign he and his gracious wife Helen were faced with a dilemma most distressing. For the two had ruled Narnia for many years and along with raising up the country, they had also raised a brood of noble princes and princesses.

Now the matter that pressed the Noble king and Radiant queen was that as they were getting older in years, it had come time for their eldest and heir to the throne, Frank II, to take a wife. Much thought was given on this issue for there were not many daughters of Eve in the country at the time. Not wanting to have their lineage die out, Frank II set his eyes on a young woman from the deserts of Calmoren.

It was said that she was a beauty most fair with skin the color of caramel and hair deeper than the midnight sky. With in her first meeting with Prince Frank, the lad was taken and resolved to make her his queen. And in the spring of the twenty-first year of King Frank's reign, Prince Frank took the desert woman as his wife.

The marriage was a passionate one; however, it was not a happy one. For the woman that Prince Frank had wed was a vicious and bloodthirsty woman who took delight in inflicting suffering of others. It was said that she had such a foul disposition that she rarely kept a lady's maid longer than a year. Be that as it may, Prince Frank would hear no ill against his wife.

It did not take very long for Queen Helen to grow fearful and suspicious of her new daughter and vowed to find a visible fault that her son-whom she was certain was bewitched-would see.

One night, Gracious Queen Helen strolled the great halls of Cair Paravel when atop of the North East tower, she heard a whimper echo against the stone. Curiosity took over her and Queen Helen ascended the tower stairs. Once she reached the top of the tower, the Gracious queen let a bloodcurdling scream out from her throat. For bent over a rickety table, Queen Helen saw her daughter-in-law performing unspeakable torture on one of her more previous maids; a faun by the name of Wioleta. Queen Helen noticed the bodies of the desert woman's maids were strewn around the tower, horribly distorted they had been tossed aside like forgotten rag dolls. Some had mercifully passed on but others were not so lucky. It was said that even the hardened warriors' stomachs clenched with bile when they later went up to observe the grizzly scene.

Needless to say, Frank II's wife was exiled to the swamps in the North East, vowing to exact her vengeance on her former husband. However time heals almost all wounds and at length Frank II became King Frank II taking a nymph, Amaranta as his queen. Happy was his reign and marriage. The horror and monstrosities of his first wife faded with the snows and in time, Amaranta gave birth to her first born child.

It was as if then a spark was lit as the slighted and exiled former Lady of Cair Paravel began to seek her vengeance. Like lambs taken by the wolf, the Calmoren born woman stalked Narnia's young ones at night, drawn by their childhood song on the wind. Even an investigation by King Frank II's royal police did not stop the disappearances. It soon became apparent that the newborn prince was in danger most severe and Frank II spent no expense to keep his son's safety.

One moonless night, the exiled lady returned on the darkest and coldest breeze to the castle she had once tortured so many souls in to claim her prize. But King Frank II was prepared for her and she was detained before she even got to the babe's crib. Her execution was swiftly arranged and in her last words she cursed the whole of Narnia, vowing to come back until she took the life of one of Helen's blood, sparing no young soul whose path she crossed in the process. And so it is said that her spirit still glides on the breezes of Narnia at night and resides in her grown over hall by day. Her hall was said to have had the small bodies of all the missing young, tortured and disfigured in much the same way as the maids in the tower were found.

Now hear this thee young ones, dare not make song after the set of the sun. For the Madame hears all that the moon sees."

As Vitus ended his tale, he sat back, visibly proud of his work and sat in silence in order to allow his tale to sink in. Indeed, both queens looked pale and stricken, the words of the tern spoke the night before, mingling with Vitus's tale. At length Lucy, who had always been bolder than her sister leaned forward and spoke up.

"Vitus…the name of-of the Lady from the de-de-desert, do the texts speak her name?" Lucy wondered, her words almost refusing to take form.

Vitus leaned back, not taken the sisters' reactions seriously, thinking that the scary and disturbing story effected them more than he anticipated. He replied so lightly, as was his fashion. At first glance, it would have seemed that he was speaking of something almost trivial if not for Lucy's widening eyes and Susan's complexion becoming void of all healthy glow. " While her actual name has alluded historians," Vitus began, "The recorded Narnian folk tales refer to her as Madame Lihi."

* * *

**A/N: Oh goodness. This chapter wins the 'most work put into it' award. I did extensive research on everything in here before I committed anything to the typed word. To tell the truth, I think there is a wee bit of ooc and not enough dialogue from Edmund. But the story makes up for it in my mind. It is a rare thing for the author to get chills but it happens. (shudders) creepy but I love Halloween. I think I might continue this past Halloween so hooray. Thanks to Elecktrum for everything and thank you to everyone who read and put this fic on favorites and subscriptions. Please review and have pleasant dreams.**


	3. Where is the ominous lightning?

Twenty three poker straight tails belonging to the Bristlesplats dipped in and out of sight in the marsh grass. From behind Oreius, his Kings and Queens spoke in quiet council with each other, debating in a nature fitting for siblings whether or not the horse blanket on Edmund's steed, Philip, was made in Terebinthia or Galma. To be accurate, it was the Queens who held opposing opinions and were goading their brothers into take one side or the other.

It would have been foolhardy to let his Kings and Queens enter and explore an unknown place before thoroughly examining it for any dangers, be them external or internal to the walls. And so Oreius had to send forth the Bristlesplats, an argumentive but capable family unit of twenty three meerkats to survey the castle for foe or insecure structure. They were handy creatures to have in the guard as they did most everything within the family. Only once had Oreius known a meerkat to travel out side of the family unit and he was what meerkats referred to as a "roving male". With the entire family working as one, Oreius soon found the little mongoose-like creatures did ten times the work of a single foot soldier and in half the time, besides. In battle, they could never hold their own as well as a faun or centaur but Oreius had found the little guys quite handy for reconnaissance.

"What news, Avirl?" the seasoned centaur wondered of the dominant female of the Bristlesplats.

"The battlements crumble, General. 'Twould be hazardous for any creature heavier than a partridge to walk on, yet alone our Majesties." Replied the well kempt meerkat. Avril was the glue to the entire clan and although she was always a well kempt and elegant creature, it was apparent that keeping the peace between twenty-two of her children, siblings, nephews and nieces took a toll on her. When voices were raised, regardless of who was arguing, Avril would snap at the quarrelers and would bark irritably for them to fall silence and love their family.

"Tell 'im about the gunk, Ma!" Yevgeni, one of Avril's sons shouted from the sea of meerkats. He was in Oreius' opinion the dullest knife in the drawer but the Bristlesplats were an all inclusive package; halfwit sons and all.

"The swamp is encroaching in the court yard and areas of the entrance hall. But it's nothing that can not be fixed." Avril reported, her voice indicating that she was attempting to tie a knot at the end of her temper's rope.

"Uncle Fungus fell in, General Oreius…sir!" one of the youngest of the group reported as she took her place next to her aunt. Barely over the age to participate in scouting with the family, little Regina had the gift of gab, making it a pity she was not born a Peahen.

"I didn't _fall _conflabbit!" the so called Uncle Fungus piped up angrily. He was a crotchety old meerkat who, though once held the status of a dominant male, was nothing more than moody and opinionated in his days of dusk. "I was pushed, I was!"

"Oh come off it, Dad." One of the many males in the mass of meerkats said dismissively before Oreius and Avril could continue.

"Oh sure!" Uncle Fungus grumped in a huff and continued in a high pitched mocking voice, "Oh, yes. Let's not listen to Uncle Fungus. Just because he brought this family to providence with Aunt Blueberry doesn't mean we should listen to a thing he says. It's just crazy Uncle Fungus who's hard of hearing and has bladder problems-"

"Is the castle safe for their Majesties to enter, Avril?" Oreius wondered a little louder than usual. There was no need for his kings and queens, who now watched the argument unfold with a curious interest, to hear about an old meerkat's bladder infections. The High King made his way over to the centaur to see what the squabble was all about and stood on the right side of his mentor.

"Aye, Genreral. It is perfectly safe." Avril informed him while sweeping a bow toward Peter and then promptly bounded into the fray of relatives to exact her leadership.

"What news?" King Peter wondered of the centaur he saw almost like a father.

"Some of the swamp is encroaching into the courtyard and the battlements are not safe to tread on yet, my Lord." Oreius informed Peter neutrally. "Shall I give the signal to proceed, my Liege?"

The High King gave the centaur a sheepish look and turning his back to the large party that accompanied the four on the trip whispered, "I'd much rather have leave the majority of the party at rest here. It's been a little distracting when we are planning to have the entire court there with us. That and…I do believe Lady Peahen and her daughters are ogling my every move."

At this confession, Oreius could not contain the smile that spread across his face. Several weeks had passed since the decision to tour the swamp country to find a suitable site for the new castle. It had been a big to do in court, as was any sort of travel the Pevensie siblings undertook, and the trek to and through the swamp lands of the North East was nothing short of a court affair. Banners, footmen, and almost every able bodied creature accompanied Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy.

Presently, the royal family had spotted a slightly dilapidated castle through the thick marsh trees and with the recent discretion from Oreius, they would soon make way to explore the structure. Once the home of a great Narnian lord, the grand battlements of stone was laden with moss and vines from a hundred and five years of negligence.

Oreius bowed his head in the direction of the four as a sign of respect. "I shall stand watch at the threshold." He did not have to vocalize the next sentence that out of years of habit began to form on his tongue. It was clear that the four monarchs would alert him if the centaur's aid was needed.

The four made their way to the structure with Oreius, several other well trusted guards and Vitus. Looming over them, the castle looked misplaced. Several stone gargoyles situated atop of the battlements appeared foreign under their blankets of moss. Pausing for a moment, Peter took in the vision of the castle they had found solely on a wing and a prayer. On the breath of the wind, a single word carried to the High King's ear: Peeeteerrrrr. Stopping in his tracks, the Magnificent surveyed his surroundings to find the enforcer of the not-so-amusing joke. Yet his siblings and best mate were almost at the entrance to the castle and his guards stood their distance. Peter had no idea what could have whispered into his ear when nobody was close enough to.

Noticing his lagging behind, Lucy turned around and greeted Peter with the smile she was so famous for. What had ailed her several weeks ago still alluded him but Susan had assured him that all was well. "Come hither, slowpoke!" Lucy called brightly and the High King complied. He cast the voice in his ear aside as he joined the group.

* * *

Susan spun around in the vast great hall, amazed at its size. It was easily larger than Cair Paravel's but it was obvious that the abandoned castle's rooms and chambers lacked in size to accommodate the hall's massive size. "Echo!" She called out with a giggle before she returned to her sister, bothers and Vitus.

"Tis a vast hall, I'll give it that." Vitus admitted as he leaned against the far wall.

Edmund scoffed. He had no interest in such things. His eyes were caught and still on the defensive features of the castle. The layout and geographical position was absolutely flawless should a siege be laid and he told everyone so.

"The detail of all the carvings is sublime." Lucy admitted as she ran her fingers down the intricate foreign carvings on the one of the two large staircases that connected led to a dais in between them. Something spurred Lucy to go up one of the staircases and explore the passageways further.

"I mean, we can place guards all around the inside perimeter with just one or two lookouts to watch the road way." Edmund continued his speech to Peter and Vitus. Susan strolled contentedly around the center of the great hall, humming her favorite Narnian waltz to herself.

Taking this as her opportunity to explore, the young queen began to ascend the staircase. However being one of the most perceptive people in Narnia, Susan stopped in her tracks and asked her sister, "And where would you be wandering off to, dear one?"

"Just to explore the corridors." Lucy replied truthfully. There was no use lying to Susan about her whereabouts.

"What say you about the place so far?" The elder queen wondered and was answered with a grin.

"I plan to stake out my chambers before you three." Lucy replied, voicing her approval with a sly grin. She turned on her heel with a flash of red hair and began to ascend the stairs.

"Don't go far and do go on the battlements." Susan told her sternly, getting only a backwards wave in reply. As an afterthought, Susan yelled after her, "Mind your skirt's hem."

Announcing his presence to his sister by a tug on her hair, Peter took his place beside Susan as they watched Lucy disappear from sight. "You know asking Lu to keep her hem clean is like asking the Bristlesplats not to fight.

She cast him a sidelong look and laughed dryly before turning to the other two. "So," she began, "Edmund and the castle's defensives are to be wed, Lucy's staking out her territory, and I'm planning the grand ball that shall transpire when we take court here. What say you, Peter?"

The High King gave his sister a pointed look filled with annoyance and in suit, Edmund rolled his dark eyes. "_Must_ you put on a ball for everything, Su?" Peter wondered, taking no pains to hide his irritation.

"Come off it." She told him irritably while playing with a stray thread. "We all know you dislike ball so because you get practically hounded by every female in Narnia for a dance."

"Last time you held one of those silly balls, I didn't even get a moment's peace. As soon as one dance ended, someone else scooped me up."

"Wouldn't have that problem if you 'accidentally' trod on one's foot." Edmund piped up. "One dance of plodding on a nymph's foot and I got a solid reputation as a bad dancer, thank you very much."

Vitus, who had until then lean unobtrusively, walked over to the center of the room where the Magnificent and the Gentle stood. "Where's your sense of romance, my lord?" The political hostage queried with a painfully straight face. "For all you know you many find the woman of your dreams as you dance." Vitus paused and turned to Susan. For one brief moment both Pevensie brothers stiffened at the thought of the foreigner making a pass at their sister and in front of them none the less. However their terseness dissolved as Vitus mocked a curtsey in an exaggerated manner and asked in an annoying falsetto voice, "Oh King Peter! Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

Susan responded with a smirk and bowed before giving Vitus her answer in a deep voice, "Why, yes. For some odd reason I am highly attracted to you."

"Since when do I sound like that?!" Peter bristled, crossing his arms as Edmund moved to join the other three.

"You are a vision of loveliness, fair maiden. I must have your name." Susan joked in her mock Peter voice as they waltzed.

"Well, my name is Yvette-Angelina-Merryweather-Francesca….but you can call me-" Vitus' reply was cut short as hurried footsteps echoed over the vast emptied hall and Lucy appeared at the top of the stairs.

Her gown's hem was covered in dust, her cheeks streaked with tears and her red hair flying. Edmund's worried inquiries of what was amiss fell unheeded as the youngest Pevensie threw her arms around a confused Peter's waist.

"Lu?" Susan queried, leaving Vitus' side to comfort her sister. The Gentle ran her fingers through her sister's hair to coax her into calming down. But to no avail; Lucy kept her face buried into her big brother's tunic. Susan looked to her elder brother for an answer as to how to deal with this. Unfortunately all he could give Susan and Edmund was a refection of their confused and concerned countenances.

**A long but IMPORTANT A/N: oh goodness, how I'd love to finish this chap better. But unfortunately, I am not feeling too hot at the moment and think you lot had waited long enough for chapter 3. Anyway, the paranormal begins in this chapter. Some of it is very discrete (because ghosts can't be waving picket-sign signs all the time). Also things will begin to get a little bit jumpy. I apologize, but I think that paranormal activity isn't a continuance type of thing. So time must lapse. I don't want things to be jumpy so if anyone has advice on how to avoid this problem, please contact me in the mode of your choice. Well that's about it. It is to bed with me. Please review and all that jazz. Thanks to all who reviewed and helped.**


	4. Merely to keep the young ones in check

With his arms held behind his back and his brow furrowed like a prune, Edmund paced the length of the tent. "So, you said that you saw a fox in the castle?" He began, half to himself, half to Lucy. She sat on a makeshift chaise lounge, her eyes still wide in fear.

They had finally gotten Lucy to release her vice-like grip on the High King and decided it was best to make camp for the rest of the day outside of the castle's grounds. (Lucy refused to stay another moment within the castle's walls.) Presently, and after much coaxing, the siblings had managed to pry bits and pieces of a tale from their little sister. Susan sat next to the Valiant, her hand never ceasing its pilgrimage down to the tips of her sister's red tresses and back. Mr. Tumnus anxiously offered the younger queen a goblet of warm milk and honey in which Queen Susan took from him to give to the young monarch.

Vitus stood, like an outsider observing, near the exit incase his presence was no longer desired. He cast a look at his best mate, the High King stood near him. Although the outsider never followed his friend onto the battlefield, he could not help but think Peter's expression mirrored that of a man about to go into battle. "But Avril reported the premises void, did you not?" Peter interjected with a pointed look at the lone meerkat.

With out the twenty sum members of her family in her wake, Avril appeared miniscule by comparison. Yet for all this she held her presence proudly and answered evenly, "Aye, your Eminence and I hold to it. We have swept the area twice already and there was nobody there prior to this untimely event and was not a soul there afterwards. " It was a bold thing to say, yet the dominant female was certain that her kin would not tell her fallacies.

"It was no mere fox!" Lucy protested standing up, frustration it had seemed had taken precedence over fear and anxiously Susan tried to coax her sister to sit down again. But Lucy would have none of it. "No!" She half yelled at Susan, " I will not sit back down and I would thank you if you all would cease from treating me like I am but a child unable to think for herself. And I'll have you know that Avril is not at fault here. Twas no ordinary fox, as I've told you and told you!"

The occupants in the room sat in taken aback silence until Susan took hold of her sister's wrist. "I think you should mind your status, sister." She demanded in guise of a suggestion. Her tone was even, like a mother correcting her child at church. "There are others present." She waited for her sister to sit next to her calmly and at length asked Lucy to recount her tale.

Sighing, Lucy covered her face with her hands and rolled her eyes behind them. She had told the story so many times with in the hour, with everyone involved requesting her to recount it. All she wanted to do was to get away from that wretched castle and to forget the vision she saw but if retelling it…yet again…would clear things then she had no choice.

In a shaky voice, Lucy recounted what had scared her so, "In the North wing of the castle, I was peeking into the chambers finding nothing more than broken furniture and overgrowth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of red and white. So thinking it was one of the foxes in the guard, I-I followed it. The Lion help me, I followed it… But…but it wasn't exactly who-_what_ I expected. When I finally caught up to the fox and called out to him. He was in the shadows so that all that was visible was his tail-I-I had no idea…absolutely no idea…b-but when he heard my call, he t-tu-turned to face me. His… hide had been p-peeled off of his face like a bandage from a bloody wound." The all to real image came to her mind and the young queen squeezed her eyes shut as if to interdict the image from her mind. The image was all too real, as if she were reliving it all over again. At length, she continued, "and it just sat at his shoulders like-like-like the hood of a riding cloak, everything from his throat to his shoulders just…torn b-back. I could see the _very meat_ of his face and-and the bits of… bone that had peeked from his muscles. One eye-oh goodness, what a ghastly- wa-was sewn crudely shut and appeared… infected for puss seeped seeped through the swollen tissue. I could not run-no, wanted t-to but-but couldn't, nor could I sc-scream; only st-stand in place as the… abomination looked at me with a dark eye and croaked, 'W-w-w-w-here is my son?'. By then I found my legs and fled-oh! Did I flee- but the thing took chase after me. It was only when I reached the stair case to the great hall did he relinquish his chase. I know not what it was save the fact that it was not natural."

As Lucy fell silent, so did the rest of the company. Edmund had not ceased his pacing, attempting to make sense of his baby sister's claim for in sooth, he found the tale a little too far fetched. Avril, who was always the picture of composure, squirmed in her spot as Mr. Tumnus gave a nervous twitch as he thought of the tale. Susan cast Peter a helpless look as if to ask him for direction in their course of action. Both of them were unaware of Vitus's lingering gaze on theGentle. It was Oreius who broke the silence several minutes later.

"Your Grace," He began in a soft voice, a voice he had once used when his foals had night terrors ages ago, "You _have _not been yourself as of late. Perhaps this vision is a product of what is ailing you."

"I know what I saw." Lucy replied as she looked each in the eyes of each face assembled. Her tone was flat with a trace of dismissal but her countenance almost pleaded those around her to not deny her sanity. "I could _smell_ its rotting flesh. I'm not crazy." Susan stroked her sister's hair in an effort to comfort her as she whispered that they knew Lucy was not insane.

At length, Mr. Tumnus spoke up in his light bouncy tone. "You know, it's curious that you mention the smell of rot. For the swamp lands are known to emit such vapors that tend to cause hallucinations."

"And do you believe these vapors are the answer to what frightened Lucy so?" Susan wondered softly as her hand made a soothing circular motion on her sister's back.

"What else could it be, Susan?" Edmund wondered rhetorically, "A ghost?"

"Tis possible, my Leige." Vitus spoke up for the first time in the conversation.

"Ghosts, Master Vitus, are naught but whispers at the hearth and bedside to keep the young ones in place." Edmund announced in an almost haughty tone as he paused in his pilgrimage from the west to east side of the tent to address the political prisoner.

"A young one such as yourself, Ed?" Susan retorted, reminding her brother of his age. Narnians had many ages of which one became an adult. Based off of the nature of the creature, the ages varied but just as in Spare Oom, the human child was considered and adult at the age of eighteen. If Susan's one upping her Edmund bothered him, the only indication was his reddening ears as he resumed his pacing.

The room fell into a silence that told Tumnus, Avril, Oreius and Vitus that they were dismissed and with in moments, the four began to quietly make their way out of the tent. With Oreius telling Peter that he will stand watch outside the tent, the four siblings were left alone to ponder what had transpired.

* * *

Night had fallen by the time Peter wearily joined Vitus at the campfire. Looking worn and worried, the High King sat next to his friend. A moment of silence fell between the two young men until Vitus looked up from the embers he was poking and asked, "How is your sister?"

"Calm and finally sleeping." Came the short reply, "Edmund and Susan do the same. I have never been so pleased to be around those with absolutely no relation to me."

"Everyone in a bad mood, I suppose?"

"You understate the matter, Vitus." Came the answer as Peter's gray eyes looked into the fire.

"About the castle?" Vitus pried even further and received a grunt in reply.

"If it were solely up to me, I would disassemble the place with my bare hands." Peter told his friend quietly so not to be over heard. "There is an oppressive air around the grounds of that place. I have no proof, 'tis only a spine tingling feeling. But when these apprehensions surface they're for a reason."

"So what's stopping you from passing the place by?"

"Three words, Vit. Susan and Edmund. They're practically in love with the place. I suspect the wedding invitations will be sent out soon. She's not said a word, but Susan's already planning functions for when we come here for the season. The psychopathic glint in her eyes when she saw the great hall betrayed her and told me everything. And Edmund...he insists that the grounds have the best defenses in the whole of the region with natural features that we can not hope to mimic." Peter explained, taking Vitus' makeshift poker and jabbing the fire with a vengeance.

"Pulled the guilt card on you, eh?" the political prisoner summed up quietly.

The High King jabbed a glowing log in the fire with vehemence, sending bright sparks up in the air. "I care just as much about national safety as he does." The Magnificent told his friend in the tone of one about to set off on a rant. "Of course I want to keep the Ettisnmoor from entering our boarders. What imbecile would not?!"

"Lost your temper with your brother, then?" Vitus inquired casually, taking the make shift poker back. The High King gave him a pointed look and the young man from the Seven Isles felt the need to defend his actions. "If I leave you to tend the fire, you'll knock a log off and set the tents on fire. There'll be mass chaos, there will. Mass chaos and charred hair." It was an understatement and the two could not help but laugh. Silence enveloped them once more until Vitus queried, "And what of Lucy? What is her take on this?"

"Same as mine. She dislikes the place with a passion…but her reason is more concrete than mine."

"So you believe her tale?" Vitus prompted.

"I do not deny that she saw something that frightened her enough to dislike the castle." The Magnificent answered evenly, "She insists that it was no illusion. Yet I am unsure if she denies it as a hallucination for the unpleasant idea that she indeed hallucinated. Nobody wishes to acknowledge that they see things that aren't there."

"And what have you decided?"

Peter paused and heaved a sigh and at length concluded more to himself than to Vitus, "I have no choice but to allow Susan and Edmund what they want." The friends sat in silence for a moment before Maribelle Peahen discovered the location of the High King. As the hen made her way to them, gushing her praises, Peter pushed the entire mirage incident to the back of his mind. There was plenty of time to question his decision while they continued the tour of the Marshlands.

**A/n: well there you have it. Chapter 4. not much to say about it in my opinion. Any way, please review and thanks to everyone who read the fic and reviewed. **


	5. Warning or Pessimism?

Dawn had just rose as the youngest of Narnia's monarchs opened her eyes. It had appeared that Mr. Tumnus placed more than honey with in her warm milk the night before, under what she assumed was Peter's word. The youth did not remember much from the night before beyond Oreius, Mr. Tumnus, Vitus and Avril leaving the tent. Susan had coaxed her to drink the toddy as an argument erupted over whether or not they should move on to another location and bypass the castle. As the argument went on, Lucy's fervent arguments against the place grew laced with yawns as the alcohol took its course through out her veins. She recalled her eyelids growing heavy as she laid her head on the curved back of the chaise lounge she and Susan sat on.

And now the cock's crow roused the thirteen year old to find her sister and brothers sleeping almost in a dog pile. At her shoulder, Peter had flopped on the floor with his back to the lounge. His head had tipped back in the night, resting on the lounge's side. Lucy had to restrain a giggle for the High King's mouth sat open quite like a cod fish. Susan was sleeping in an even less dignified position. She had fallen asleep next to her sister but over the course of the night positioned her legs over the arm of the chaise lounge in a ninety degree angle. It had reminded Lucy of when Peter had fallen backwards in his chair. In front of Susan's face, Edmund's leg jutted out perilously from his random position next to Peter.

Not wanting to disturb her siblings, Lucy slipped off of the lounge and wrapping a fringed shawl around her shoulders, softly made her way to the front of the tent.

"Your Grace," Oreius greeted her, making the young queen jump. She knew the body guards would stay at the threshold of where the four slept but was shocked to see their general standing guard. Never the less she knew his presence was out of worry and it warmed her heart.

"Good morning, General." The Valiant replied, stepping out of the tent and letting the flap fall shut. Oreius surveyed his young queen as if she were liable to combust into flames. "All is well, Oreius." Lucy assured him, flashing her hallmark smile. "I'm just going to take an early morning stroll, 'tis all."

The general raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the youngest of his Queens. He had been in their service ever since before the beginning of their reign and knew his king's and queen's like books, read and reread so many times the entirety of it contents were known. The great general was also a father…once, so very long ago, and knew when one was telling a falsehood. This was one of those instances. "Then allow me to escort you." The two began to walk away from the camp sight as others began to bustle about in order to get another day under way.

A comfortable silence enveloped them as they walked to the edges of the camp. At length Oreius looked down at his queen and observed her appearance for any clues of what she was hiding. She had appeared better than several weeks ago when the four had made the decision to tour the swamp areas. However, with the stress of her hallucination, the queen looked spent and strained all over again. The dark circles that had begun to fade from around her bright eyes deepened and her keen eyes appeared to be sunken in. The Valiant's once rosy countenance appeared ashen. It was no question that she was ailing from either outside or internal and the phantasm last night only made her condition worse. Even though it would have over stepping his boundaries, Oreius decided that he needed to intervene.

"Your Grace," He began, making a point to choose his words carefully. He was never eloquent with words when they mattered. His wife was always excelled where he lacked. "The vision last night-"

"It was no mere vision." Lucy responded quietly, as if it was more for her personal reinforcement than the centaurs.

"I know 'twas a frightening-" Oreius fumbled through his thoughts and words as his ever vigilant eyes surveyed their surroundings. "Have your Majesties made a decision on the location yet?"

Heaving a sigh, the young queen tilted her head back to observe the sky before answering in a tone that attempted to mask her apprehension and anger, " 'Tis up to Peter if we stay here or move on. But it is no mystery; I know he will choose to stay to keep the majority of us four happy. Edmund and Susan seem to be bewitched by the castle."

"And you, your Majesty?" Oreius wondered softly in a fond tone, "What is your say?" There was no denying that his Kings and Queens were as dear as his own young were to him. The centaur could not come to grips to the notion then, but deep in the recesses of his heart; he knew he sought to correct his mistakes through being his monarchs' keeper.

"Oreius," Lucy said in a voice almost like her usual, cheery tone, "Have you any offspring?"

Silence fell upon them as the general quelled the feeling of despair within the pit of his stomach. At length he responded shortly, "Aye, my Lady. I had foals of my own prior to my service to you and your royal siblings. Two fillies and a colt." He kept his gaze on the distance, knowing she had brought up the subject to avoid the thought of the ghastly keep. The general anticipated the young queen to drop the subject. They were nearing a part of the surrounding marsh and would have to return to the camp before long.

"Have they grown up with colts of their own?" Lucy wondered as she skimmed her hand over the tips of knee-high marsh grasses. Her new found interest in her general's personal life prior to his service was only to change the subject and both knew that as truth. Yet, Oreius had no choice but to dispel the tale of those days before Aslan's return.

"My son and daughters have all left this world, your Highness." Oreius replied evenly. His eyes kept their vigil on the horizon until a dainty, warm hand rested on his forearm and the Valiant gave him her sympathies. " 'Twas a long time ago, my Lady." He told her, the tone in his voice thanking her for her concern.

"How did they pass?" Lucy wondered, no longer seeking for a subject changer.

"My eldest, Dragana was her name; fell in an uprising against the Witch near the beginning of the Long Winter. I had nothing left after her demise. My wife had left me after Ebele and Baldo were taken…and all I could do was dedicate the whole of my resources to Aslan's cause." Oreius explained steadfastly. It was a short soliloquy, yet Lucy knew that she would be wise not to inquire further.

"Morrow, your Grace." A voice greeted from the other side of tall marsh grasses as a Marshwiggle, the owner of the voice, stood up to make himself visible. A large leather hat solely supported flopped in front of his face, obscuring his facial features and dreadlocks.

"Good Morrow, Master Marshwiggle." Lucy returned with a small grin.

He paused before responding, his head tilted as if pondering a deep thought. At length he replied, "No, just 'morrow' your Eminence. No point labeling the morrow good when the mudfish have decided not to nibble for the fortnight."

Oreius rolled his eyes, finding the marsh dwelling creature a worse annoyance than gnats. Notorious for their pessimism, Oreius found his patience shortened while in the presence of Marshwiggles. No doubt the creature's gloomy nature would strike a chord with the Valiant and she would spend fruitless hours trying to cheer him up. She had known Marshwiggles before (they worked in the Cair's harbor) and the General had witnessed his young queen sitting with them for hours in an attempt to cheer them up. The Lion smile upon her, she tried.

"Well, there has to be a reason why." She told the Marshwiggle. "Tell me your name."

"My name is of no importance, your Grace." Came low toned answer as the marshwiggle took his fishing line out of the marsh waters.

"I've come to warn you and your royal siblings." He admitted. The Valiant cocked her eyebrows in surprise and Oreius stiffened, not liking where the conversation was going.

"Warn us of what?" Lucy wondered.

"Pay no mind to him, Queen Lucy. I should be getting you back before your royal sister and brothers begin to worry." Oreius cut in whispering into Lucy's ear. He had dealt with the marshwiggles before during the Hundred Year Winters and found the race to be the least reliable of all of the creatures in Narnia. They made a favorable position sound the same as an unfavorable situation. The only thing such a skewed and unreliable source could offer was more fear for Queen Lucy.

However, the girl resisted her companion's gentle tug on her forearm. "Warn us of what, Master Marshwiggle?" she persisted.

The pessimist leaned close to the girl, so that his wide brimmed hat ticked her forehead. Oreius' insistence that they departed was set aside in Lucy's mind when the marshwiggle elaborated. "No good can come of that castle yonder." He said quietly, pointing to the direction of the old keep.

* * *

The High King sighed from his post against a pillar and turned to Edmund. "See the psychopathic glint yet?" He whispered with a wry grin to his brother as they watched Susan in the center of seven or so dryads and fauns, scribbling her every word.

"That should do it for the Great Hall. Follow me and we'll survey the wings of the castle." Susan told the group as they made their way up one of the large staircases. The three had entered the castle not even an hour ago to survey what improvements needed to be made and Susan, being Susan took the responsibility for the furnishing and homey touches. Neither kings had any affinity for architecture and at the pointed suggestion of Susan, had no business bothering the beaver architects and mole contractors when they had no clue what was going on. And so Narnia's kings stood by the entrance of the Great Hall, commenting on the psychopathic glint in their sister's eyes adopted when she went on an ultra-productive mode.

"M'lord?" a young buck called from the other side of the room, "M'lord, King Peter, may I have a word?"

Glad to have something to do, Peter left his post at the pillar where Edmund remained. The Just heaved a sigh and tilted his head back against the stone wall, thinking about the vision that Lucy had seen and refused to listen to reason. She flat out refused to believe that it was nothing more than the marsh gases playing tricks on her mind. Wracking his brain for a way to make Lucy understand that it was nothing supernatural, Edmund did not notice his little sister entered behind him until she tapped on his shoulder.

"The Elderly Gentleman told me you three were here." Lucy told her brother with a small grin.

"Hmm." Edmund grunted in an attempt to sound nonchalant. In truth he was glad that Lucy had come to chat. "Thought you disappeared."

"I went on a morning walk 'tis all." Lucy assured him. Pausing for a moment, Lucy took a moment to look about the Great Hall. It was the same as they had left it, and she could not hide the involuntary shudder that rippled through her form. "I still don't like this place." She admitted truthfully to her brother, hoping she would find a sympathetic ear.

"You seemed to like the keep enough yesterday when we first came." Edmund reminded her. The Valiant gave a half smile knowing that she was in no such luck in finding a sympathetic ear in Edmund.

"Before I had that run in with a ghost." She mumbled to herself, crossing her arms.

"Lu," the Just sighed tilting his head back in frustration, "How many times do we have to assure you that there are no such things as ghosts?"

"I know what I saw, Ed!" She protested in the same way she did the night before.

Rolling his eyes again, the fifteen year old king cast a harsh glance at his sister. He knew not why she was clinging to the idea that the place was haunted and in sooth, her insistence was getting on his last nerve. "What you 'saw' was nothing more than the gases from the marshes. They have been known to cause _hallucinations,_ Lucy. Mr. Tumnus even said so." He explained putting emphasis on the word 'hallucinations' to prove that the fox was nothing but one.

"This place is not right and its just not me!" She hissed into her brother's ear so others would not over hear. "Folk in this region stay away from it. They say no good can come of this keep."

Edmund gave a snort of indignation as Susan appeared at the top of the stairs with her entourage of scribbling aids. "And what folk would that be, sister?" He queried, keeping his voice low as to not offend anyone. "Marshwiggles? You know as well as I that they can make the grandest fixation sound depressing."

"But even still, if a local creature-no matter what his race-gives warning I think-"

"Lucy," Edmund cut her off, his voice revealing that he was holding back his anger at his sister's stubbornness. He brought his left hand to his forehead, a habit the Just employed when he was frustrated. "I don't know why you are so opposed to this place but-" He stopped in mid sentence, looking over at the hullabaloo over at the base of the stairs. Several worried cries emitted from the crowd. Hurriedly, Peter made his way to the base of the stairs. The circle of seven had swelled, looking over a pile of pale purple skirts.

"Su," Lucy breathed as she followed Edmund to the circle, demanding to make way.

Sprawled out on the floor, Susan's skirts fanned out about her. Seemingly dazed, her green were widened in almost surprise, wondering how she ended up on the floor. A bright crimson trail trickled down from her hair line was the only visible sign of injury. "Susan? Are you alright to stand?" Peter asked attentively, as Lucy and Edmund squeezed through the crowd. It took a moment for the High King's question to register in the Gentle's mind. "The last few steps are uneven." She explained to the assembly before shakily sitting up. "Please, do not be pulled away from your tasks due to my clumsiness."

"Are you sure you're alright?" Lucy wondered quietly as her brothers hoisted Susan to her feet. She handed her sister a hankie to wipe up and staunch the sparse blood flow on Susan's brow. While their subjects felt at ease with her explanation, her siblings knew when any of them were being dishonest.

"Quite." Came the clipped remark as she took a few steps away from the staircase with the three close by. There was something different in her body carriage that Lucy could not name and she couldn't help but wonder if her sister was pushed rather than momentarily clumsy. Smoothing out her skirts, Susan called out about getting the mole contractors to look at the steps to the group of dryads and fauns before walking away from the three.

The High King watched Susan walk towards the dryads and fauns with suspicion. "That was a bald face lie." Peter quietly told the other two, his gaze on the Gentle.

**A/N: Here's chap 5. To me it seemed a bit rushed and I think there is some ooc, but I have no excuse for it. I wanted to get a chap out for Halloween. I will be continuing this fic even after Halloween. I'm just having too much fun writing scared Pevensies. Within the next chapters, the activity will begin to get a little more concrete so I'm pumped for that. YAY! Thanks goes out to the readers, reviewers and especially Electrum and my roomie, GemEncrustedEarth for helping me with this chap. (hug)**


	6. My roots have already dug in

The gilded confinements of the High King's new cambers were a far cry from the familiar and comforting walls of Cair Paravel. Although two months of renovations and Susan's taste in decor had left the new castle just as stunning the Cair, Peter could not shake the feeling that he should have acted on his instincts and not appeased Edmund and Susan's wishes of living in the abandoned castle.

In the darkness of the night, Peter's senses heightened like a pointer-hound spotting his mark. The royal family had arrived at the newly renovated second castle that afternoon and as a moonless night swept over the swamplands of the North East, a feeling that the first night spent on the premises would not be a restful one. Lucy, who was still unconvinced that the vision she saw two months ago was a hallucination, was beside herself as the night drew close. Peter's youngest sister had insisted that the castle was haunted by a spirit of some-such and brought up the "evidence" of Uncle Fungus' fall into the swamp muck, her disturbing hallucination of a fox and Susan's tripping on the stairwell as fact. Her insistence, of course, was getting on Susan's, (who denied being pushed on the stairs) last nerves and Edmund had rolled his eyes at the notion of spirits so much, it was likely they would never cease from their circles.

To this effect, the Magnificent had spent a good portion of his evening quelling his sisters' anger, given the fact that he was in all terms and purposes, the neutral party. At length, he had calmed Lucy enough to get her to sleep in her chambers with the promise that the candles would burn for the night's course and that any of the other three were in the same wing as Lucy's chambers.

The pressure of a body sitting on his feather mattress brought the High King out of his light sleep. Thinking it was one of the litter that the Elderly Gentleman had adopted a year back, slipping in to curl up at the foot of his bed as they had done with him and his siblings in the Cair, Peter rolled over to his side. Even though many cats had the gift of speech in Narnia, the smaller felines still enjoyed full reign of the castles even in the dead of night. It was not uncommon for them to make their rounds to ensure the safety of everyone in the castle nor was it uncommon for them to take quick naps on their rounds. The small cats made lazy night watchmen but they were effective nonetheless.

"Cephas," Peter greeted with a groggy mumble, bracing himself for the nightly occurrence of the cold nose of the small silver tabby bearing the aforementioned name to press against his in an attempt to determine if the High King still breathed. When the cat did not reply, it struck Peter as odd. Although the adopted son of the Elderly Gentleman, Cephas had picked up the older cat's tendency to underline every action with a genuine concern for the monarchs' well beings. Even in simple interactions having nothing to do with duty to the crowns, the notion that Cephas and the Elderly Gentleman were observing with critical eyes still rung true.

For a moment, the notion that the pressure seemed to come from a body bigger source than a cat seemed to raise a slight alarm for the king. But it was quelled with the reminder of how in a new unfamiliar surroundings, paranoia could set in. Peter turned on his stomach fitfully as if inflicting some sort of vengeance on the unfamiliar mattress. Several moments passed with the pressure of the cat sitting on the edge of the bed as Peter began to slip into sleep's embrace once more.

With out warning, the High King felt his silken covers being pulled off from their positions just below his bare shoulders. The thought had occurred to the groggy king that perhaps one of his sisters had a night terror and were climbing in bed where it was safe. Lucy was intimidated from the castle and her presence would have explained the not-so-cat-size pressure on his bed. Sitting up, Peter called his sister's name but was met with a stony silence. The embers from the gilded fireplace, it was clear to the High King that nobody was in his chambers yet alone on the edge of his state bed.

Tentatively, Peter got out of bed and called for his youngest sister. "Lu?" The inquiry only just escaped his mouth when the same raspy whisper of the wind softly beckoned as it did the first time he saw the castle. "Peeeeteeerrr, Peeeeteeeerrr". It was soft as was before but the windows were shut to the windless night. Within a moment, it was obvious that the visitor was not Lucy. Instinct told the eldest Pevensie to grip an unsheathed Rhindon's hilt yet his senses reminded him his fear and the dim lighting could cost the life of a subject or worse, his sister, should he raise his sword.

In his brief moment of indecision, the disembodied voice whispered once more, "I am always present, Little King…" Peter backed up into his washbasin, sending the porcelain bowl smashing onto the floor as he witnessed his sheets press down in the form of a feminine body reaching across from the far side of the bed.

The shards of porcelain dug into the soles of his feet as Peter groped in the dim room for the sword Father Christmas had given him. The Magnificent dared not take his eyes off of the imprint on his bed. His hand enclosed around the hilt of his sword. The imprint on his covers shifted to what seemed like a sitting position as the High King boldly raised his sword to the unseen foe.

A degrading laugh echoed through out the confines of his chambers and with his eyes transfixed on the invisible intruder, Peter did not notice light from a lone candle bounce from the hall way. "Foolish boy." The voice taunted. Evil seemed to drip from every word as did the feeling that it was taking pleasure in the High King's carefully concealed fear. "You think a mere blade will stay me?" There was a pause as a familiar voice from the hall called out for Peter.

Susan appeared at the threshold, her shawl drooping from her shoulders and a candle raised high in her hand. Confusion was painted on her countenance, displaying that the crash from the washbasin awoke her. "Peter, what the-" She began to inquire but paused mid sentence as her eyes fell on the imprint at the edge of the bed as it disappeared as quickly as it had formed.

"My roots have already dug in, Little King." The voice continued for both brother and sister to hear. Footsteps on stone resounded despite the lush Narnian carpet that covered the floor and the High King caught the Gentle's fearful eyes. Without warning, Susan gave a great shudder as if a sudden deathly chill had fallen upon her. Anxiously, she took several shaky and rushed into the room.

It was as if the Magnificent had found his legs as he sheathed Rhindon and climbed across the large state bed. It was obvious that the night time visitor had left their presences and the eldest queen flung her arms around her brother, muttering about an unearthly chill that seemed to suck the very warmth out of her bones. The two sat at the edge of the bed with Susan able to do nothing but weep into her elder brother's shoulder and Peter incapable of doing anything but comfort her by his presence. Although neither could bring themselves to speak, they knew what had to be acknowledged: Lucy's claims, just as before, were genuine.

**A/n: yes, it is an extremely short chapter and for that I apologize. I have more thrills in store and if I placed the rest of the chapter that I was planning in, it would turn out to be a little too long and draggy. So for all terms and purposes, I apologize for the painfully short chap. Thanks to all of my reviewers and hitters. My roomie has also been flippin amazing to listen to my writer's rants. And a humongo thanks goes to Bob Saget. Because its my fic and I can thank him if I want to. Thanks guys!**


	7. Lack of sleep

The sun that seemed loathe to rise after the first night at the new castle now bathed the private sitting area with a warm golden light. The room had been set aside for the four to have private breakfasts on occasion, a feature that was not conceivable in Cair Paravel. It was a room large enough for its purposes with tall windows letting the sunlight immerse every piece of furniture with its rays. A small but pleasant breakfast of scones, tea, cantaloupe, honeydew and muffins graced an elegantly carved cherry wood table.

Susan stood behind her chair as she doubtfully watched her big brother limp the length of the room. Although she had dressed the wounds from the shattered porcelain dish Peter had broken the night before, the cuts were deep enough to cause the High King to walk carefully as to not agitate the deep cuts into bleeding again. Edmund and Lucy had not yet rose, leaving the two eldest Pevensies to contemplate the night's experience and its consequences.

"Peter, stop pacing. You'll only open the cuts more." Susan chided, her face lined with worry and doubt from what she had seen. The High King paused for only a moment and studied his sister closely.

She had donned a pale blue pastel dress accented by golden threaded embroidery and artfully braided her long hair. As lovely as the out fit was, it could not hide the fact that she had not slept a wink after the presence in Peter's room had literally walked through her and the dark circles under her eyes testified that. There was no denying what the two had witnessed and the only problem remaining was to apologize to Lucy and convince Edmund of the presence. The former was a daunting prospect for both agreed that it had to be dealt delicately incase Edmund overheard and then made the task of convincing him impossible. If they went about it the wrong way, Peter and Susan feared that Edmund would accuse them of caving in to Lucy's "outrageous" claims. And then all hope of convincing him would be lost.

As if their prayers had gone unheeded, Edmund slumped into the room, looking every bit as tired as his elder sister and brother. With a heavy sigh, Edmund flopped into a chair by the table. A loud clunk sounded as Edmund's let his head drop onto the breakfast table. Although never really a morning person, the Just had never resorted to sleeping on the breakfast table. "Sleep well last night, then?" Susan wondered with the corners of her mouth curling into a slight sly smile as she gently rubbed her little brother's back.

"I need to speak with Avril." Came the croaked out reply, as if his voice had not been used for days. "She needs to discipline those pups of her family's."

"Since when did you grow an interest in the business of raising meerkat pups, Ed?" Susan wondered in an uppity tone that belied her anxiety over the previous night's experience. A new wave of pups had been born into the Bristlesplat family prior to touring the Marshlands and the pups were beginning to become rambunctious and brave enough to play farther away from their den in the courtyard.

"Since they decided to play in the corridors to our chambers at all hours of the night." Edmund answered testily, cocking his head back to examine the ceiling. "Did you not hear them?"

Susan cast Peter a questioning look as if to silently ask how they were going to respond. The High King had paced to the large window that overlooked the courtyard. Despite his lack of sleep, the High King did not skip a beat. "The Bristlesplats are warming up in the sun. You might want to speak with Avril before she leads the family on rounds." He observed with a tone that did more than suggest. Heaving a sigh, Edmund slumped out of his chair and left after Susan's joking comment of 'No rest for the weary'.

A silent moment passed as the fifteen year old king's footsteps resounded from the halls. Long before he was out of ear shot, Peter and Susan had exchanged grim glances. They had been awake with Lucy long after Edmund had retired for the evening and both knew that there was no one in the corridors before or after the run in they had with a spirit.

"At least Edmund experienced something." Susan commented at last, running a finger over the embroidery of the tablecloth as she spoke.

Her brother scoffed in reply. "You can't be serious. You know as well as I how stubborn Edmund can be. He'll write it off or something of the sort." Peter paused for a moment as if debating to speak or stay silent. "I'm inclined to agree with Lucy." He admitted at last and got a quizzical look from the Gentle. "Su, I think we should pack up and return to Cair Paravel with in the fortnight. Sooner, if possible."

The eldest queen rolled her eyes at her brother and replied in a calming mothering tone as if Peter was a small child scared of a storm. "You know we can't do that. We've expired half of our yearly budget on this castle."

"You're brilliant with numbers though. I'm sure if anyone can make up for the losses, its you." He flashed her a hopeful smile in an attempt to butter Susan up enough to agree with him. It faltered under her hard stare and the High King felt the urge to explain. "Something's not right in this place. Lucy has felt it as have we-"

"I've said nothing of the sort, Peter Pevensie!" Susan exclaimed, raising her voice. Her outburst surprised the High King. With the patience of a saint, she was never so easily provoked.

"And yet you're about to join me in telling Lucy that we believe her claims. What is this now, sister, a contradiction?"

"There's a world of difference between acknowledging something is there and agreeing that it's dangerous. And besides," She added with an indescribable glint in her eye, "if we're counting contradictions, then perhaps we should visit how Narnia's High King who has fought the Witch, herself, wishes to retreat to the Four Thrones with his tail between his legs. All because something he couldn't see flicked his nose." It was a harsh accusation and one unlike Susan to make. She glared at Peter uncharacteristically with a dark look in her eyes.

"Beg pardon?" The High King asked half in way of a challenge, half in a way of testing the water.

Taking a deep breath, Susan sat down on a chair; the dark look replaced by her usual soft countenance. "Only that I think the spirit in this castle is not vicious." Came the reply. "Did I not say that?" The look on her face revealed that she was not teasing in her question.

The High King opened his mouth to utter a confused reply, but was cut short as Lucy practically bounced into the room. "Morning." The youngest chirped as she briskly made her way to the table. She paused upon seeing the looks on her siblings' faces.

* * *

Standing in the crisp autumn morning, Edmund began to feel the most uncomfortable he had been in all of his fifteen years. The Bristlesplats had emerged from their courtyard den and in the weak heat of the sun, had begun their daily social grooming sessions. Unlike Lucy who knew the names of each Bristlesplat and how they were related to Uncle Fungus, Edmund was never one who was able to tell one Bristlesplat from the other. He silently rued his deficiency as he took in several large piles of meerkats scattered in front of the den. Affectionate chirps and chitters emitted from each grooming group as they cleaned their cousin, child, aunt, uncle or parent. The Bristlesplats were oblivious to their king's presence and the grumble in Edmund's stomach goaded him to get it over with.

Choosing the group to the far right, Edmund knelt down on one knee and hopefully called out, "Avril?" For a horribly uncomfortable moment, Edmund thought that they had not heard him and was about to repeat himself when the head of a female Edmund wanted to call "Schmooey", poked out from the center of the grooming cluster. "Third one on the right." She informed the Just, inclining her head to the group where the dominant female was. However, before Edmund was able to thank Schmooey, she had disappeared into the pile of tan and stripped fur.

It took a while for Edmund to locate Avril, but in time he knelt in front of her and her mate of three years, Sabine, who was grooming his lady tenderly and humming an old Narnian song. The couple seemed to be lost in their own little grooming-world and- as was with the other Bristlesplats- were too absorbed in cleaning to notice the King. "Avril?" He ventured tentatively and got a small serene 'Mmm-mm' in reply as Sabine groomed near her neck and ears. Shifting uncomfortably, Edmund was at a loss of what to say and had a feeling that he should permit the couple privacy. "Er," He stammered, suddenly painfully aware of his age and how foreign the prospect of earthly pleasure was to him. "Perhaps I should return after the grooming sessions."

A laugh escaped Avril's lips as she slipped away from Sabine. She paused to compose herself with a guilty smile across her face. "Forgive me, my lord." She apologized, giving Edmund a deep bow. "What is the nature of which you wish to speak?"

"I'm here to address a problem about your pups." Edmund admitted evenly, keeping any traces of anger over the situation concealed. Cloaked anger, as Mr. Tumnus had once advised, was the mark of a great statesman.

"My lord?" Avril questioned, tilting her head to the side in confusion. It was clear that she was unaware of her pups playing in the royal corridors at all hours of the night.

With the utmost composure and patience, the fifteen year old many Narnians referred to as the Law of Narnia, explained the noises that had kept him from sleep the night before. All the while, Avril listened intently, her small dark eyes grew in a mixture of confusion and graveness with each passing word until the Just had finished.

Around her, the family had finished grooming and the seven young pups in question gleefully played in the entrance of the den. Their cries of mirth filled the air much as they did the prior night.

"With all do respect," Avril began carefully, "All of our pups sleep in the farthest reaches of the den with the rest of the family piling the passageways in front of them."

Sabine nodded in agreement and added in a raised tone, "Aye, m'lord. If any of the wee ones were to venture even to the mouth of the den, they'd have to step over all seven and twenty of us adults." He explained, taking into account the three meerkats who stayed behind in patrols to watch the pups. Sabine was a naturally loud creature with the sometimes unfortunate tendency to sound razzed at anything he spoke of, be it as tedious as the weather or as significant as wartime strategies.

The king shook his head in disbelief. He knew he heard the Bristlesplat pups outside his chambers last night. The three paused, long enough to process the information given as Yevgeni made his way to his parents and his king.

"Perhaps my Leige heard another group of young Narnians last night." Avril suggested evenly as Yevgeni called out, "Ma? Ma? Ma? When are we to go scrounge for breakfast? Ma? Ma? Ma?"

"There are other youngsters of Narnia besides my pups." Avril finished over her dimwitted son's low pitch whir.

"Yes," Conceding by a nod King Edmund agreed, for she did have a point, "But the nature of their play, their voices and the sounds I've heard last night match your pups to a tee."

In response Avril shook her head as the pups in question skittered to their mother. "Mumma," One Edmund was certain was named Sarah began, adding to Yevgeni's never ending query. "Mumma, Cyril bit me tail! And bit it good. Look." She added turning to display her tail.

"Mumma's busy speaking with the king, Dear One." Sabine whispered to the small pup just as her tail biting brother, Cyril pleaded with Avril to not believe a word little Sarah told them. These mixed into the tumult of "Ma? Ma? Ma? When are we to go scrounge for breakfast? Ma? Ma? Ma?"

Closing her eyes as if to remain composed, Avril spoke over the hullabaloo. "As I have said, my Leige- WE EAT AFTER ROUNDS!" She informed Edmund then turning her attention to the clamor of her family, yelling in an attempt to gather order.

Silence fell over her shocked children and relatives, many of whom had not been involved in what had set Avril off. "When are rounds, Ma?" Yevgeni ventured at an ill timed moment. With out warning, the dominant female of the Bristlesplats launched herself at her half-wit son in an attempt to set him straight.

While Avril contended to the domestic incivility, Edmund pondered what she had said: the pups had not left the den the night before. It could have been that he was imagining the noises, but Edmund was never one to have such a vivid imagination. That was Lucy's department. No, the voices of children playing were _real_ despite what the meerkat had told him. His thoughts were cut short by Avril turning from her display of dominance to show her usual composed and elegant self. Sweeping into a deep bow, she resumed what she was telling Edmund. "As I have said, my Leige," She continued as if nothing had interrupted her at all, "Our pups would not be able to sneak out with out any of us noticing. I wish I knew what to tell you."

The Just nodded in agreement and admitted with a sigh, "As do I, Avril."

* * *

The small square white stomach of a tiny calico cat caused a stark contrast between the blue of Susan's gown. A contented purr echoed from the petite cat on the Gentle's lap as Susan sat quietly in the court yard with her eyes on the gate. Due to the "castle-warming" celebration ball scheduled for later in the evening, all courtly duties for the four monarchs had been cleared, leaving Peter, Edmund, Lucy and Susan to enjoy an afternoon to themselves.

Currently Susan had situated herself in the courtyard to await Waylon's arrival. Besides her siblings, Waylon was her mainstay and had it not been under his guidance, she would have never succeeded in convincing the Archenland nobility into aiding Narnia. Although in secret, the Gentle did at one time fancy Waylon, it soon became apparent to her that her affection towards him was nothing more than a deep friendship.

" 'Tis a glorious day for just sitting and soaking up the turning of the leaves in all their majesty." The furry, stretched out cat admitted from her position on her back. "It is a crying shame that your royal siblings decided to stay the day's course training in the sword or inside."

Susan gave a slight nod as the Bristlesplat pups played near their den under the watchful eyes of the designated baby-sitters, Pran, Ebb and Valerious.

Peter had taken to reading after breakfast but found himself unable to stay awake and had fallen into a deep, recuperative sleep on a long chaise. Much to Lucy's amusement, the High King had fallen asleep in an awkward position. The Valiant on the other hand, contented herself in finding Mr. Tumnus and visiting with the faun. Edmund, however, seemed to embrace the idea of a free afternoon with less alacrity than his brother and sisters. He seemed troubled by something that he was resigned to be tight lipped on. What ever his grievance, though, Edmund had decided to spend the afternoon doing the absolute opposite and was to be found in the practicing lists, perfecting his sword work further.

"Aye, Voz." Susan agreed absentmindedly, stroking the grateful cat's belly. "They know not what they're missing."

Voz, the tricolored calico perked her head up at the seemingly automated response. Purring a bit in a short, cooing tone, Voz rested her forehead on her queen's abdomen. "You say so, your majesty." The calico admitted, without moving. "Yet I doubt that is what your mind is mulling over." A perceptive little cat and one of the litter adopted by the Elderly Gentleman, Voz was the most promiscuous cat Susan had ever met. Always sneaking off with tomcats from the stables, Voz had never heard the word 'no' from any non related male.

This had concerned the Edlerly Gentleman for he thought that Voz's perceptiveness rivaled that of her learned sister, Chielo. When the old cat found out that his adopted daughter had other plans, he hired Ira and Ezra, two deer who made Clyde seem mild in comparison. The two were staunch matrons who had absolutely less humor in their bones that a pebble. They were also just what E.G. thought his morally loose daughter needed and hired the deer to keep his Voz from indulging in too much earthly pleasure. Currently, the deer stood on either side of Susan and Voz. The two sentries flanking the queen and cat did not utter a single word but kept their eyes and ears open for any form of imprudence.

" 'Tis nothing, Voz. I did not sleep well last night…unfamiliar surroundings, I suppose." Susan admitted, half lying. She stroked a dainty finger along the cat's throat. Voz squished her eyes together in contentment but found her Lady's claim to be wanting. She brushed her cheek against the Gentle's hand and stretched her neck out a little further as if encouraging where to pet.

They sat in silence, with the seven Bristlesplat pups, Sarah, Cyril, Sayuri, Cipriano, Smith, Salvatrice and Oddity engaged in a loud game with one of their sitters, the crippled Valerious, who hobbled along to keep up.

Voz opened her mouth to speak just as the keep's gates opened to allow way to a gilded red carriage inlaid with intricate gold filigree. It was unusual for carriages to be used in Narnia and was decidedly an Archenland feature. However, the circumstances of the passengers called for the contraption and the royal siblings had no qualms lending it to them if it insured the safety of the party.

Ebb yelled for Sarah and Cipriano, who were playing farther from the den than the other pups, to come to them, else the two little ones get trampled by the chestnut and bay horses or the carriages wheels.

A smile spread across Susan's features, knowing that those she had been waiting for had arrived. She scooped up Voz and strode forward, leaving her shawl behind on her seat. As if on cue, the curly head of Waylon popped out of the carriage door. The simple act made Susan forget the spirit in the castle and the arguments spawned from its presence and her grin widened. Waylon had always had that effect on her. His unspoken support in all her actions was uplifting. And no matter who he spoke with, he made them feel like the most important person in the world. The youthful courtier caught sight of the young queen and gave her a wry smirk before winking one of his gray eyes and dipped back into the carriage to retrieve his wife.

Voz, never one to be held for more than a minute, wiggled her way out of Susan's arms and set off in the direction of a black tomcat. Never missing a beat, the deer purposely strode after the "loose" cat.

"My lady!" came the overjoyed cry from the carriage as Waylon held out a hand to help his heavily pregnant wife.

Dores was the daughter of an extremely well to do Archenlandian merchant who sold materials to the royal family. She was a plain woman whose "enthusiastic" nature played off of Waylon's laidback kindness. Bearing her first child, Dores was forced to calm her nature down but before her pregnancy, she enjoyed her wine and was known for her wit when tipsy. Unlike her husband, though, Dores was quick to doubt and anger but nevertheless, brought a "different" breath of air into the court.

With a wide grin on her face, Dores took her husband's hand and with her free hand on her back to steady herself, she stepped down from the carriage. It groaned in release from its load and now free of the weight of its passengers, lifted to its original height from the ground.

"Susan," Waylon's lady greeted with outstretched arms as her husband trailed close to her side. While relatively an easy pregnancy for seasoned mothers, Dores had found herself experiencing enough troubles to cause Waylon to become more attentive than a mother hen. The Gentle accepted her friend's embrace and upon pulling apart, found herself subject to Dores' scrutiny. "You have circles, right here." She informed, touching with light hands under her eyes to indicate where the circles were on Susan. "Has my lady been sleeping well?" She paused, as if deciding to pursue the matter then deciding against it, she linked her arm with the queen's.

"I missed you terribly, Susan." Dores admitted, walking Susan away from the carriage, "The Cair is not the same when you four take leave. But I hear that you did wonders on the interior of this castle."

Susan looked behind her to glance at Waylon who had a worried look on his face. The couple was only several years Susan's senior and the prospect of a child had caused Waylon to worry and hover. "Don't worry so, Waylon." Susan reassured him with a grin, "You'll bound to look that way forever if you do."

The young courtier caught up to the women in several strides as they made their way to the entrance of the castle. Behind them, faun stewards gathered the trunks of the two.

"How's Mumma and Papa?" Susan inquired of the couple.

"Papa's gone off his rocker." Dores giggled as the wind caught her light brown hair and pulled it out of her braid. "The other day, Waylon, here, finds me among the company of some of the courtiers who shall not make it to tonight's gala. And rather than addressing myself or Lady Peahen or Duchess Buttuconnis, my lord bends down to my belly and rubs it saying vigorously, 'Well met, my son!' And then-as if I, the mother of his unborn child just strolled into the room with a foul smell on her breath- then Waylon turned to me and greets me with a 'I missed you too, my love."

Susan attempted to hide a snort of laughter and Waylon, desperate to cover his tracks, said defensively, "Listen not to what my wife has to say, Gentle Susan. The long trip has gone to her head. I have never spoken to the child in Dores' womb as if she was not there." He paused and bent to the height of his wife's stomach. And patting it, continued jokingly, "Isn't that true, my son?"

Dores smiled fondly at her husband. "You should be carrying this child, Waylon not-" She cut off, with her eyes wide and placed her hand on her protruding belly as if she was confused at what was transpired.

"Dores?" Waylon wondered, hovering like a hummingbird. "Shall I rush for the midwife?" He seemed torn between standing by his wife's side and running for a midwife.

"No," came the halting reply. "No. The baby was just kicking as if he wished to run about these hills." Dores paused and addressed the life within her, "Patience is a virtue, Dear One. Do not be so hasty to leave; life will never be this straight-forth."

Susan heaved an almost inaudible sigh of relief that the trip had not brought on the child early. After all, the babe was to be due a month from the very day. The queen glanced at her close friend and mentor whose blood had drained from his face at the idea of becoming a father a month before he was ready. In sooth, Waylon looked as though he was about to faint. Susan felt a pang of guilt for her friend. He would truly never live it down if he did pass out and it did not serve his sanity very well either to be disquieting over the matter either. What Waylon needed was a distraction.

"Waylon," Susan began, in an attempt to give him an excuse to not think about the babe for but a few hours. "I do believe my royal brother, King Edmund, would like a word with you on defending our Northern most boarders. He's very anxious to speak to you. Mentioned nothing but for days. You'll find him in the training lists near the stables." Susan paused at Waylon's reluctant glance at Dores.

"I am fine, my love." His wife assured him with a smile, "Go, speak to the king."

"I will watch after her." The Gentle assured her advisor who nodded reluctantly.

"Be mindful of her limitations." He said in a way of conceding as Dores led Susan away.

"I promise I shall be ever vigilant, Waylon." The young queen said in reassurance.

A sly grin embellished Waylon's features and a small fraction of color returned to his cheeks. "I was speaking to my wife, with all due respect, your Highness."

The statement was too much to keep a demure face and Susan had to join her close friend in giggling with out restraint as their path deviated from Waylon's. Once he was out of sight, Dores quietly examined her queen's countenance. There was something the sixteen year old sovereign was not telling and it was obvious that the queen suffered internally from it. Susan had always found Waylon as a confidant in the earlier years and while she still did, Dores had found herself immersed in the role of a matronly confidant within a few months of living inside the Cair. In sooth, the Gentle's reluctance to speak of her burdens upset Dores and she took no pains in telling Susan so.

"Please, my lady." Dores began silkily, like a mother tempting a wrong doing from her child. She ran her hand down the Gentle's hair and continued, "I implore you not as your loyal subject but as a close confidant, do tell me what's haunting you."

A moment passed in silence as Susan internally countered and weighed the repercussions of telling the woman who she saw as her guide to everything feminine. At length, the Gentle heaved a sigh, conceding to tell Dores everything from the reoccurring night terror of Lucy to the previous night when a spirit had walked through her. Touching Dores' arm lightly, Susan motioned to one of the doors. "I would rather speak of such matters away from prying ears." The Gentle quietly explained. She felt childish and ashamed that she let such a notion as ghosts bother her. Although she had conceded the existence of one in the castle, she had mentioned to Peter that she felt more than a little silly jumping at shadows. And as such, she did not want her subjects to hear of her almost asinine fears. The girl many called the Lily of the North, sighed and led her confidant through the threshold to the interior. She hoped that she was right to impart to Dores her clandestine concerns.

* * *

In a sunny sitting room in the castle's east wing, Lucy held up the dainty white teapot up in invitation. "Another cup, Mr. Tumnus?" The Valiant asked politely and received a nod from the faun. She had asked him to accompany her on her afternoon tea for both faun and Daughter of Eve had little time to catch up in all the excitement that transpired within the week or so.

His blue eyes twinkling, Mr. Tumnus nodded and held out his cup and saucer to be filled. Taking a moment in the brief silence, the faun examined his little friend. She was certainly growing up to be quite the lady, the faun decided. But underneath her elaborately done hair and courtly garb, he could not but remember the small little girl he had met on the winter's day. How adamant she was in insisting that she was certainly _not _a bearded dwarf. And now there she was before him, quite the elegant lady. Tumnus could not have been prouder even if she was his own daughter.

"Two lumps of sugar, I suppose?" She wondered, holding silver tongs above the sugar dish. She had the color in her cheeks back. Quite the contrast from several months ago and her cheerful nature had returned. Here, away from the glances of her elder sister, the queen had not restrained herself from placing four sugar cubes in her tea.

"I have a question for you, Mr. Tumnus." Lucy chirped contentedly, sounding more like a lark than a girl.

"And I have an answer, Lucy Pevensie." Tumnus replied, his tone becoming unintentionally as cheerful as the queen's.

There was a pause as the Valiant unceremoniously dipped her scone into the lemon tea to soften it. With the cookie completely saturated, she leaned over her teacup before the tea soaked pieces had the chance to fall on the fine table cloth. Giggling at her lack of genteel manners, Lucy continued, "Do you believe in ghosts?"

The faun blinked. "That's an odd question, your Highness." Tumnus admitted. He was present for his little friend's "encounter" but had not had a chance to speak with her about it for two months time.

"But you did promise me an answer, did you not?" Lucy quipped, catching the fallacy in the faun's words.

"That you are right, Lucy Pevensie." Mr. Tumnus conceded with a smile, "I suppose I did." He paused, not feeling at ease at what she was trying to get at. "Tell me though, what developed such an interest?"

"Peter and Susan experienced something unearthly last night." The Valiant explained, hoping to find a common agreement in Mr. Tumnus. It was quite reassuring to have her oldest brother and big sister behind her on the matter of a haunted castle. Although it seemed that they were keeping a few details from her-as always- it would still have been nice to know from Mr. Tumnus that she was not insane.

The faun's eyes widened at the idea. He could not shake the notion that the siblings would unknowingly go along with a notion such as spirits. It was common for brothers and sisters to "play along" with something and eventually believe. But he could not tell his little friend so. After all, she did come to him with the news in the first place.

"If they had an experience then it must be so." Lucy explained in lieu of the faun's hesitance.

"Perhaps, Lucy Pevensie." Tumnus began, his voice giving away the fact that he was censoring every word from his mouth. "While I do not out right…deny the existence of spirits in Narnia, like General Oreius or the Elderly Gentleman, I tend to be reluctant to label an area as haunted. Where as the Calmoren believe most avidly in the dead visiting the living. They not only believe that they visit but that the spirits can even take over a body of the living-"

Lucy's expression fell at the statement. "So you don't believe me." She inquired with an underlying hurt in her voice as she sipped her tea. Lucy had counted on Mr. Tumnus to support her claim of the fox and her dislike of the new castle if she told him that Peter and Susan had like experiences. The idea that he was not behind her one hundred percent disappointed the Valiant to say the least.

"No." Mr. Tumnus replied shortly and then continued as if he was walking among a den of lions. "Although I do believe in spirits and ghosts, I am reluctant to admit one dwells here. That is for the moment, my Queen. One's opinion is subject to change, you know."

Looking in her lap, Lucy felt a severe disappointment fall upon her. Mr. Tumnus would have done better to dismiss the idea like Oreius or Edmund had, not tip-toeing to spare her feelings. Although she knew it was a sweet notion for Tumnus to take her feelings into consideration, it still was no consolation in the end. "Yes," She emptily agreed with her trademark grin, "I suppose you're right."

* * *

Dores wrinkled her brow as Susan's story came to a close. It was quite a mouthful and was no wonder the queen had not slept well several nights before. Through out the tale, the Gentle's tone had been quiet and pleading for answers. At length, the pregnant courtier sighed and with a shrug let her hands fall into her lap.

"Please say something, Dores." Susan begged, stepping in front of a chair. Her green eyes shone with fear and the older woman wished she could quell it.

"My lady," Dores began slowly, an idea forming in her mind, "…that necklace, how long have you worn it since last?"

The queen cast her friend a perplexed look as her hand reached for the delicate golden chain with a single pearl gilded calla lily pendant. "This?" She asked, confusion written upon her face clearly, "'Twas a present from the dryads for my fifteenth year, six months and a year ago."

"Do you always keep it on, your Grace?" Dores persisted.

Her perplexed expression deepened and Susan answered, "Nay, though I neglected to take it off before I retired last night."

Dores' hands fluttered in response as if the action was the only way to keep the idea that had dawned on her in check. Wordlessly she stood up and strode over to a small maple card table and began dragging it to sit between where she was sitting and another comfy chair.

Susan strode over quickly to help pull the table into place. Although it was light, the queen did not feel at ease allowing the woman to drag it over with out over exerting herself or the baby. When the table was in place, Dores looked up at the Gentle. There was a resignation in her eyes that Susan could not label.

"Do you have ink and parchment in this room your Highness?" Waylon's lady wondered. The question seemed detached from what was transpiring, but nevertheless Susan dutifully strode to a writing desk to retrieve the items.

"Are you going to tell me what idea you fabricated in your mind, Dores?" the queen wondered flatly. She did not like being left in the dark, monarch or not.

"You want answers, am I correct?" The question was shot back with the same amount of persistence and Dores gave Susan an unwavering glance, making her hazel eyes appear to be challenging an answer.

"Aye." The Gentle countered, placing all her resolution in three letters.

In response, Dores walked to the threshold and scanned the hallways for eavesdroppers and passersby. At length she returned to her seat. "In Calmorene culture, they believe that there is a thin wisp of a veil that separates the netherworld and ours. When the veil is breached, interaction between the dead and living can transpire." She paused and leaned forward. Dores had seen Aslan once when he came to the court, but always held a fascination for the Calmorene culture. Some could argue, though, that her fascination had grown like a weed into an obsession. "And so, the Calmorene developed a system to speak with the dead. Give me your necklace."

Susan blinked in confusion. She had no clue what linked speaking with the dead to her necklace but complied nonetheless. "Dores, where are you going with this?" She wondered.

"The Calmorene invented a method to speak to the dead. The séance requires a necklace that has been worn for four and twenty hours and something for the spirit to write on." She paused and placed the chain in Susan's hand. With out speaking, Dores placed the tied clasp between Susan's fore and middle fingers so the pendant hung swinging between her hand. It was clear that Dores intended to do a séance and the notion frightened the Queen.

"Wh-why must I hold it?" Susan questioned hesitantly.

"Because you wore the necklace, not I. It will act like a focal point for the spirit to focus on. Since you've worn the necklace for four and twenty hours, it holds the warmth your person gives off. Spirits are drawn to heat which is why ghost stories describe the room becoming void of heat. And with you holding the necklace, your grasp is keeping the metal from going cold. It simply won't work if the necklace is not held by the person who imparted the heat to the pendant." Dores paused, sensing the apprehension. "You want answers, right?" She asked shortly.

"Aye," Came the hesitant answer.

"What better way than to ask the source itself. You have said it doesn't seem to be malevolent, right?"

"Aye," The queen repeated, despising herself for being reduced to saying nothing but the three letter word.

"Then what better way to find answers than asking benevolent spirits innocent questions?" She paused and planted a motherly kiss on her queen's cheek. "I promise no harm shall come."

A long moment of silence passed between the two until Susan heaved a sigh and asked quietly in a way of conceding, "And what purpose does the parchment and the ink hold?"

Dores gave her monarch and friend an almost feral smile at Susan's compliance. "What you'll do is hold your arm and the pendant steady. And we'll take turns asking the spirits questions. If it is a simple yes or no question, the pendant will swing back and forth. But if the spirits comply, we may ask more complex questions in which the pendant will go poker straight and an answer will be written on the parchment." She paused and her confidence faltered for a moment. "…or so I'm told." Susan cocked an eyebrow at the woman and Dores shrunk under her queen's gaze. "I've never really done this before." She admitted sheepishly.

Susan sighed and held the bottom of her pendant to steady it. She did not want to voice it, but she doubted that the entire séance would work and Dores admitting that she never tried such a thing before did not bode well for the credibility of the endeavor. "How do we begin it?" The Gentle wondered.

"By calling out." Came the answer and held the palms of her hands up in an invitation. A small gesture instructed Susan to do the same with her free hand. Once the two were set up, Dores spoke in a clear, loud voice. "If there are any spirits in this palace, we implore you to make your presence known. I am Dores of Archenland and my companion is Queen Susan the Gentle of Narnia. If there is anyone who wishes to make contact, please come close for we wish to speak at length with you."

"Is that it?" Susan wondered, her eyes on the still pendant that swayed slightly from her breaths. In sooth, it was a little silly to introduce oneself to an empty room but the queen kept the thought to herself.

"We'll keep calling out until we get contact. Just keep inviting them to come." Dores instructed.

"We wish to speak to the one who has been in contact with myself, my brothers and sister before." Susan spoke up, feeling the epitome of silly. Although she felt a little chilled, she was certain she and Dores both looked and sounded ridiculous. And her impatience began to show within her words. "I want to know why you are keeping us up at night. Will no one speak? If any spirit is present, speak up. You're responsible for your dealings even in death and I grow weary of your antics. Don't be a co-" Susan cut off mid sentence as the pendant began to swing violently left to right.

"Is there a spirit present?" Dores wondered after a brief awed silence. "Swing towards me to say 'yes' and towards the mirror for 'no'." Even though Susan believed gestures were futile, Dores inclined her head to a large gilded mirror that sat to perpendicular to their left. The mirror itself had been found during renovations in relatively decent shape and gave those who walked through the threshold a chance to check their reflection.

The pendant grew still and ceased from its agitated swinging. As it subsided, Susan almost opened her mouth to question Waylon's lady. But before a syllable could have been uttered, the pendant began to swing back and forth between Susan and Dores with much force.

The pregnant woman cast her friend an elated smile and asked the spirits, "Do you frequent these rooms?" The pendant continued its arch between the two women, giving a resounding 'yes' in response.

"Did you sit on my brother's-the High King Peter's- bed last night?" Susan wondered, receiving a 'yes' in answer.

Dores smirked at her queen's astounded expression at the question and asked hers. "Did you die of disease?" The arc between the two women stopped suddenly and the spirit moved the pendant towards the mirror.

"You were murdered." Susan summed up posing a statement rather than a question but the pendant stopped and began to swing between the monarch and courtier indicating that Susan was correct. She didn't give Dores a third question and felt compelled to inquire, "Are you the only spirit that dwells here."

Once again the spirit answered, 'no'. Deciding that it was time to ask more complex questions, Dores shifted in her seat. The child in her belly was protesting his confinement again and quite adamant for that matter. "We would like to ask you more questions; can you use the parchment to write an answer?" When she received affirmation, Dores continued. "What is your name?" Going completely rigid, the pendant paused over the parchment and in jagged, almost square writing the single word 'Madame' appeared in shining black ink.

"How many dwell here?" Susan quipped, returning to the question of numbers. Once again the jagged ink shone black and Dores could not hold back her gasp of surprise. " 'Multitudes'." Susan read, trying not to notice the chill that traveled down her spine. Swallowing her fear, she prepared for another question.

"What in the Lion's mane?" A new voice filled with confusion and surprise spoke from the entrance. The women looked to find Edmund at the threshold of the door, his eyes locked on the mirror parallel to him. The Gentle followed her brothers gaze and gasped. The reflection of a woman, clad in an elegantly simple blue gown stood at the table. Bent over the parchment, it was obvious that she was writing her responses. With in moments of Edmund's entrance, the spirit who identified herself as 'Madame', turned to face the Just. All color fled from his face as he beheld what was 'merely a fabrication that kept children in check'.

Dark hair piled in a disheveled bun that would have been quite elegant in life hung loosely on her. Madame's chilling face was void of a mouth to speak, a nose and eyes like any conception of these orifice was never conceived it was horrifying yet oddly entrancing. Any attempt to flee was lost and any attempt to scream was lodged in their throats. She took a few steps forward and disappeared entirely from the mirror but not before Edmund noticed the spirit's heels leading the steps.

A moment of silence passed between the three. Susan locked her eyes on her lap and could not bring herself to speak to her brother who was without a doubt no longer a skeptic in the castle's darker side. The silence grew heavy and almost unbearable. At length Edmund opened his mouth to speak but in a split second thought better of it and turned on his heels. Susan knew his destination-Peter- and in an instant followed her brother's steps. In an urgent attempt to intercept him, Susan called out.

"Try me, Su. I could use a laugh." Edmund challenged in exasperation. He knew she was chasing him to explain what he saw. Despite the cooler weather, his training with Oreius had yielded sweat and dirt to cover his countenance and clothes. The combination of training in the lists and lack of sleep had made Edmund's temper short. Susan bit her lip; her resolve fizzled under her brother's reproach and under his stern gaze she was at a loss of what to say.

* * *

**A/n: dang this was a long chapter! Well, I'm pleased it is finished. I worked really long and hard on this. I hope you enjoyed it. This chapter was influenced heavily by play-doh. Thanks goes out to Elecktrum, my roomie and my chicken chasing pal, Kenz for being my TNT for writer's block. Also thank you to all my hitters and reviewers too. Couldn't do it with out you all. hug happy finals to all the university students out there!**


	8. Itzal says:

In his impromptu sleep on in the library, dreams came to the High King abstractly, as if shards of stained glass. The pieces, he knew made a clear and concise picture yet even if his mind could compose the pieces of the window into his subconscious, he would have seen naught the meaning behind it, only the stained glass symbolism.

Unknowingly groaning in his sleep, the Magnificent rolled over onto his side, discarding the open tome that had rested on his chest. An unearthly chill ran through out the library as he slipped into the same abstract dream.

_The same voice, cold and disembodied spoke to him condescendingly as Peter held his sword at the ready. __"Foolish boy." The voice taunted. "You think a mere blade will stay me?"_ _He was no coward and the last thing he was about to do was retreat because something unseen flicked his nose. Wordlessly, he held __Rhindon poised to take what ever came to him._

_A chill as icy as the grave descended around him as he heard a familiar voice, tainted with unabashed hatred speak. "Your daughter entreated her life as I ripped it from her, General. And the son, whom you set much store on his bravery, whimpered as I peeled the very skin away from his body…so much for a long and nobly brave line, General Oreius." The words were no sooner spoken as Rhindon shattered into a thousand portions at Peter's feet as Susan's distorted face filled his vision and quoted the spirit from last night, "I am always present, Little King…"_

_Then everything fell into a suffocating darkness and Peter saw his brother's blade protruding from his own stomach. The High King saw the look of shock and confusion on his own face as the blade, wet with his own blood dripped onto the flagstone of the great hall. Lucy's face shone off in an uncertain distance, tears filling her eyes as she whispered something inaudible. As his last life's breath slipped from his lips, the mocking voice repeated its words from the previous night, "I am always present, Little King…"_

Peter awoke with a start as he collided with the floor. He let a grunt of exasperation escape his throat as a light little laugh filled the room. With in moments, the ice of his nightmare began to thaw as his youngest sister bent down to help him up. "We'll need to put a nice cushy throw rug here if you insist on making this a common occurrence." She giggled as she situated herself next to Peter on the floor.

"Trust me," The High King replied, placing a good natured smirk on his face as he reached behind his head and beamed his baby sister on the head with a pillow. "I have no intention of do anything of the sort."

The girl squealed in protest at the affectionate act then situating herself farther away from the pillow's reach. Once she was certain he was not going to use the pillow against her again, she sighed and rested her head on Peter's shoulder. "What did you dream about?"

"Now who said I was dreaming about anything?" Came the reply accompanied with a smirk.

"I heard you talking in your sleep. And you only do that when you're dreaming." Lucy explained in a matter of fact tone. "So will you answer my question, or not?" She flicked her red hair over her left shoulder before she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Would you buy that I was dreaming about the ball tonight?" He prompted with a ridiculous grin.

"Not even if it were free, would I buy that." Lucy giggled quietly. She paused in her interrogation. She had heard bits and pieces of what Peter had called out before he fell from the chaise. Roots, and spirit and then something about not being able to win… She knew Peter was keeping his nightmare from her for what ever reason and the notion slowly came upon her to give him a brief-not in its entirety- overview on the dream that had plagued her several months ago. She had a brief notion that his nightmare was due to the castle and the previous night's happenings and decided quickly that giving one source of coveted information for another would give her the most information.

"Is it about what happened last night?" Lucy prodded, raising her eyes to look into the stony face of her brother's. When she was met with an absentminded touch on the head and a quiet 'never you mind', she decided to address the situation another way. "I spoke with Mr. Tumnus today."

"About what Lu?" The High King wondered grateful for the distraction.

"I told him about how you and Susan felt something too."

Peter rolled his eyes in a slight exasperation but did not open his mouth to scold her. He did not feel right about telling their subjects about the experiences they were having. The Magnificent did not want a panic to spread like wildfire, regardless if their subjects believed them or not. "And what did he say?" He wondered.

"He doesn't believe us." Lucy sighed quietly, rubbing her slippered foot against the cold floor of the library. "He says that he believes in such things, just not in this instance." Pausing, Lucy gave an audible sigh, "Might as well have told me he simply didn't believe me." Silence filled the room as Lucy gazed at the gray hem of her gown. Her thoughts were lost in the silence of her mind yet Peter empathized at her situation. Thirteen was an awful age to feel isolated no matter the birth order.

"I believe you, Lu." He told her simply, with an earnest tone he only reserved for his 'brother moments' beyond the prying eyes of the country. He was never really good at reassuring the others in such situations. Susan had the ability to ease every incident with such seeming ease, and there he was feeling more awkward than a flying dwarf. "And Susan does too. Sometimes we can only see what is in front of our noses…but I guess it would help to know that you don't face this alone…" Peter trailed off, finding himself in a new kettle of very awkward fish.

"In that case, mayhaps it would help _you_ if you spoke of your dream…" Lucy trailed off, knowing that her brother was playing into her hands. "After all, 'twas no secret that I had night-terrors a few months ago. Talking about these things always helps one feel better."

"It was obvious even to the naked mole rats that once you got a full night's sleep you were back to most of yourself." Peter mused with a wry grin. He knew by then that she was playing him like a lute to needle out the details of what had shaken him so. "To be honest, I dreamt of what Su and I experienced last night…" He trailed off, feeling silly admitting this to his baby sister. In sooth, the High King wanted nothing more than to leave the castle grounds and never look back. There was something beyond him in the walls and the entity in his chambers proved it. Susan was correct in pointing out that it unnerved Peter to defend against a foe unseen. He never liked to show any trace of fear towards the others. Although his front did falter at times, Peter hated to see the wide eyed look in the others' faces when they realized that he was just as scared as they. How could a rock stand in adversity if the cracks were exposed?

Lucy's dainty hand found its way into the High King's sword hand which had sat limply between the two. Encouragingly, she gave it a small squeeze. "That would have been enough to send any warrior running." She reminded him, having been filled in with most of the story that morning. "I don't know what I'd do if the ghost sat on my bed next to me or walked through me."

"It was more than that," Peter admitted heaving a sigh, his reluctance to speak matched only by the peculiarity of the conversation. "It's the way the spirit spoke; 'I am always present, Little King'. There was such hatred in the way it said it. I can't shake the thought of what ever is in this place as pure and utter evil."

"I agree." Lucy told him seriously, a grim look painted on her face. "I would be happy if I could leave here this very minute." She sighed and rested her head against Peter's shoulder. The two sat in contemplative silence for quite some time, each attempting to analyze the problem at hand.

At length Peter made a move to stand. The afternoon was waning and the long process of preparing for the ball at sunset still had to be attended. However the familiar high rolling trill of 'Yoo-hoo!' echoed through the library as Betsy Peahen skittered into the room with her recent clutch of six chicks in her wake.

Only a hatchling when the long winter ended, Betsy had a life-long fondness of the High King, as was a notable trait for the clan of chickens. She preened her beetle-green tinted feathers to a sheen for the ball that evening and even her little chicks' white and black feathers puffed with cleanliness. "Your Majesties." Betsy began, bowing low and giving a low cluck to the chicks to follow suit. "I am glad that I have found you. I have a most pressing matter to speak with you on, King Peter."

"You have but speak it, Lady Peahen." Peter assured her genuinely, noting how the hen was practically sitting on his leg. As uncomfortable he was with the family's attention to him, he knew that their advances to him were all in good nature. Betsy was unfailingly loyal to her husband, Sir Gallus Galewe.

"I know you are preoccupied with affairs of state, but I just simply can't wait until the ball tonight in which to speak with you, Sire." She began as Lucy followed five of the chicks across the room. Forsaking decorum, she flopped onto her stomach to follow the chicks part way underneath a chair. "It's about my son, Danilo."

"Ah yes, Squire Danilo is to be knighted tonight. He's one of the best. You must be very proud, Betsy." The High King returned kindly, telling no falsehood of the hen's cockerel. Danilo was a good squire and would make a fine knight. The poor young rooster had a strong sense of duty and surprised everyone at first with his success. Fortune and others smiled jokingly on any Peahen born male.

Beyond Betsy and Peter, Lucy kicked her legs absentmindedly and giggled as the five swarmed over her obstructed upper half. The sixth chick, an odd, antisocial little thing explored by himself near the entrance.

"That's just the thing, my Liege." Betsy explained, her tone dripping in honey, as she shortened the distance between her and Peter's thigh. "Mummah is still at the Cair to be near Mitsy when her chicks hatch and I know she would want to see such an auspicious occasion in her grandson's life. Do you not think?"

"I think that there's another reason behind this, to be honest with you. Your mother spoke to me about this matter too. As did Gallus." Peter pointed out and the hen pulled her neck close to her feathers sheepishly, puffing her up. She was extraordinarily protective of her first clutch, Danilo especially.

"I can tell no fallacy to my Liege." Betsy conceded and opened her beak to explain sheepishly but was stayed by Peter's hand resting reassuringly on her back.

He flashed her a smile and promised that he will delay the cockerel's knighting as across the room an angry cry filled the room. "I don't want to play with you and that mealymouthed-whore of a queen, damn it!" the sixth chick shouted to one of his sisters. The noise had startled Lucy who, forgetting she was half under a chair, tried to sit up and hit her head against the wood. The little chick who tried to reach out to her brother ran to her mother and Peter, her wings outstretched and her head hung in fear and sorrow.

"Ove!" Betsy reprimanded, not bothering to keep her anger in check in front of her sovereigns. "Why by the Lion would you say such a thing! Queen Lucy is your queen. It is under the grace of her and her sister and brothers that we live in Narnia. How dare you say such things and you know better to raise your voice to your sister! Come here this instant! Just you wait until your father hears about this."

The chick strolled to Betsy casually, as if he had all the time in the world and looked at his mother threateningly. At length he told her with language colorful enough to make a sailor blush where she could stick her opinions.

"Where by the Lion did you learn these words, Ove?" Betsy demanded as she ushered the remaining chicks to her.

"Aye, I have a few choice word of my own to tell that bloke, myself." The High King frowned, angered at the words spoken against his youngest sister. Lucy made her way over to them and flopped next to her brother with her hand rubbing the spot of impact.

"Itzal told me to say it, Mama." Ove admitted sheepishly. The chick hung his head in shame, obviously contrite for his actions.

"Itzal?" Lucy wondered, contorting her brow thoughtfully. "I do not recall anyone of that name at court."

Betsy shook her head angrily, her eyes boring holes through her son. "And you never will, your Grace." She explained in a disgusted tone, "Itzal is the name of Ove's invisible friend." Had Betsy intended to elaborate on that, she was too vexed to continue and began to usher her chicks out of the room. "I must go and think of a punishment befitting this transaction. You have ages of my sincere apologies, Queen Lucy. Although I wish I'd have more to offer. Rest assured someone is going to be punished severely."

"Don't worry about it Betsy," The Valiant assured the hen kindly with her trademark smile, "I know there was no weight in the claim." She stood up with Peter to walk the hen and her chicks out. One of them paused and ran back to Lucy's feet.

"I think you're better than…" she paused, thinking of the best thing in the world that could not hold a candle to her queen. "cake and herring!" It was an unconventional list to be better than and even the Magnificent had to crack a smile at the notion.

Betsy smiled at the well meaning chick as she led them out in a single line. Despite his transgression, Ove was the last in line and he paused. He turned reluctantly and announced to the two monarchs in a confused tone- as if he was unsure of what was coming out of his beak, "Itzal says that he 'hears all that the moon sees, children of Helen'."

* * *

**A/N: well, here it is. I know its another short chapter but it has tons of symbolism and in a way foreshadowing to digest. People often say stories take a life of their own and this chapter is one of the cases, I guess. What intended to be a quick scene ended up being the entire chapter. Anyway, thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, alerted and help me. (if you fall into more than one category make a wish! It might come true) ****I'm magically delicious…goodness do I need sleep…**


	9. Kolidescope shattered

Susan sat down next to Edmund with a sigh. A glance at Dores silently asked for privacy, and the noblewoman quietly complied, closing the door behind her. Silently, Susan reclasped the necklace onto her neck as Edmund read the parchments, noting that the script was in neither Susan nor Dores' hand.

"Don't stay so silent, Edmund." Susan half-pleaded as she leaned her head back to look at the ceiling. "I can stand anyone's silence but yours."

Edmund set the parchment on his lap, considering what he saw. Naturally as a judge, he attempted to keep a neutral mind on all matters. But the matter of the spirit in their castle was an affair that warranted one verdict: fallacy. That is, until he saw a woman in a mirror when there was clearly only Susan and Dores in the room. The woman's appearance was not as gruesome as the fox Lucy claimed she saw but was still enough to have his brave words against the haunting falter.

He cast a look at Susan whose face was pale due to the situation. He sensed fear steeped into her every motion and could not help but wonder if it was from the lady in the mirror or the prospect of Edmund broadcasting that she was doing something she oughtn't have been doing.

At length, Edmund looked up from the parchment on his lap. "Did you-or were my eyes deceiving me-did you…see that woman in the mirror?"

Susan nodded in reply. "Aye, I saw Madame." She paused, noting the cocked eyebrow her brother gave her as she called the apparition by name. "Does this mean you believe, Edmund?"

She hit the question spot on, and her tone seemed to search for a definitive answer. Unfortunately, it was a query Edmund wasn't ready to counter. Did that mean that he believed? He saw the figure with his own eyes and the matter of the disembodied voices he heard the previous night still lingered in his mind. Yet at the same time, he knew how the mind enjoyed trickery. It was not his wish to provoke the other three into a debate on the matter. Nor did he fancy an evening of Susan lobbying her position without ceasing. (She was unbearably stubborn that way.) After some time Edmund spoke feeling far less assured than he sounded, "Suppose so."

If he did not sound genuine in his claim, Susan did not give it regard. She seemed relieved to know Edmund believed in the entity.

"Susan…" Edmund ventured cautiously. Peter had imparted to him earlier that their sister was quite disagreeable that morning and had the potential to snap at him. "What exactly were you and Dores doing as I entered?"

Something Edmund could not define passed over Susan's face as she snatched the papers from his lap without warning. When she spoke, there was an aggravated tone in her voice whose source Edmund could not pin. "Getting answers."

"By means of a séance?" Edmund challenged seizing the papers back from his sister. Try as he might, the Just could not quell the cautionary feeling that began to bubble from his stomach.

"It is a custom in Calmoren." She shot back defensively as Edmund held the parchment to read what the lady had written. At length he cast his sister a pointed glare over the paper.

"It may be passable in Calmoren, but I doubt Aslan would appreciate such goings on."

His words were blunt, and the Gentle bristled at the comment but remained silent otherwise.

The Just set aside the parchment on the table and retained his pointed glare. Silence passed between the two monarchs for several agonizingly long moments. "Does Peter know of this…development?" There it was; the question that had been on the back of Edmund's throat and the front of Susan's mind. It seemed to linger in the air between them like smoke about a closed room.

"No," came the queen's whispered reply. She looked away at the mirror for a moment, appearing to be searching for something Edmund could not define. After a moment, his sister continued to speak. "Nor will he, am I correct?"

The Just cocked an eyebrow and a wolfish grin spread across his features. "Are you plotting to blackmail me, dear sister?" He wondered matching her plumy tones that promised mischief coated with civility.

"Well if you call doubling your offer to Lucy so she shall not permit you to step on her feet and foil your attempt to convince the court that you possess two left feet, blackmail…then aye. I suppose that falls into the realm of blackmail."

The king's mouth formed a straight line across his countenance. In the five years of their reign, Edmund had made a bargain with Lucy. If she endured his purposely stepping on her feet during the ceremonial first waltz the four did for the court, then he owed her some favor or trinket. It was a clever plan for the Narnian matrons and ladies of the court were convinced that the Just could simply not dance and left him be for Peter-whom Edmund was told was a "simply sublime dancer". In reality, years of training in the sword had left Edmund light on his feet and had he not been so opposed to waltzing, he would have been the best partner in the kingdom.

"You offered Lucy a week's afternoons tea with her and Mr. Tumnus for years." Susan explained as if she were simply gossiping, "Yet I have in my hands a favor that makes what you promise parallel cleaning the stables." She stood up and placed a hand on Edmund's shoulder before she elaborated more. "Just think; every courtly matron in Narnian society will be so impressed that their Liege can dance that they'll not give you a moments rest. And of course, if you should tell Peter of this little incident, you'll be sure I'll one up your every offer to Lucy when ever any ball should come up. Imagine, dancing with Lady Whatsit and speaking of nothing but the weather, the roads, her rheumatism…every ball…for the rest of your life." She paused and allowed the possibility settle like a road stretching out over the horizon.

She knew how Edmund had always detested balls and dressing in grand finery. In Finchley, she had tried to goad him into playing 'Cinderella's ball'. His resistance was so adamant that a lamp was broken in the process. The idea of having to deal with what the High King had to deal with every ball for one night was daunting and the notion of it being permanent was overwhelming.

"Do I have your silence?" Susan whispered into the king's ear, bending down to do so.

"You, dear sister, possess a dark and twisted mind," came the Just's playful reply. He hoped that the joking tone would help ease the bite of resolve evident in Susan's voice.

"Oh, I say Lady Whatsit, 'tis a marvelous bunion on thy foot." The Gentle queen imitating her brother in an attempt to show him the mundane path before him, should he snitch. Switching to a high pitched voice that belonged to the fictional Lady Whatsit, the eldest queen continued, "Why, my liege! How scandalous you speak. I daresay my foot trouble cannot hold a candle to my lumbago that troubles me so…"

"Will you stop?" came the slightly annoyed interjection on Edmund's part.

"Do I have your silence?" Susan countered his question with hers, hinting that her teasing would cease if he vowed to hold his tongue.

"You're awful, darling sister." The king informed his sister his way of conceding to keep his mouth shut.

The Gentle answered pleased with his decision, "I knew you'd see reason." A teasing smile spread across the Gentle's lips and a small chortle escaped her lips. Susan pinched her baby brother's cheeks in jest and shot back before turning to leave. "Best commence preparing for the ball. Dusk is only a few hours away."

XXXXXXX

The Valiant painstakingly pinned a white orchid to her chignon and sat back to take in the effect. Beside her the yellow canary handmaiden chirped her approval. "You grow lovelier by the day, Queen Lucy." She informed the queen whose blush clashed with the red of her hair.

"You are too kind, Honeygleam." The teenaged monarch returned through her blush. She could see the reflection of four of her Great Dane handmaidens bustling about to retrieve their queen's ensemble for the evening. A nymph stood by, ready to lend a literal hand should it be needed. Indeed the chignon was the nymph's handiwork.

The ball was to commence at sunset, and as the afternoon began to wane, it seemed the excitement was gradually building and would erupt among her subjects in unrestricted laughter from the hardest warriors and school girl giggling from the staunchest matrons. Even the young queen-who much preferred quiet teas to all the pomp and circumstance of a grand ball-found herself eagerly counting the minutes to the traditional opening dance the four had to perform.

Her attention was pulled away from her visage as Susan entered the dressing room. Five years ago while the Pevensie children prepared to be crowned kings and queens of Narnia, Susan had sought Lucy out to ease the child's apprehensions. (Although Lucy often thought that it was an excuse to cover for her sister's own apprehensions.) Lucy had attended countless balls in the Cair in the half decade of their reign and it wasn't long before Susan's pre-ball visits became tradition. The two would sit for about an hour, speaking of whatever came to mind and allowing themselves to hang up the visage of stateswomen briefly to simply be two teenaged girls who anxiously anticipated a ball.

"Well met, dear sister!" Susan announced with such formality, Lucy could not help but note a suppressed giggle from her sister. The elder Pevensie girl flopped onto the backless couch and tucked her bare feet underneath the white lace of her dressing gown. During the pre-ball visits, Susan had always put propriety on the top shelf far away from thought or sight. Perhaps the lack of rules and decorum was what made Lucy look forward to those times more so than the actual ball. Her only reservation about her sister's personality was that at times, Susan could get stuffier than the armory during winter. Indeed there were times that Lucy longed for Su to act as carefree as she did while they readied themselves for grand parties.

"I will not pretend to hide my profound preference of the Cair's floors." Susan told her sister as she flipped several loose curls of hair over her shoulder. "These floors are so cold, I can hardly walk on them barefoot without my toes turning blue."

"That is why footwear was invented, Su." Lucy laughed, still facing the mirror. Around the queens, the various handmaidens kept to the perimeter of the room to give their Majesties space.

"You will find out soon enough as you grow more into a woman and young men begin to crowd you for dances that slippers can be danced clean through." The elder lightheartedly lectured all the while wagging a finger at her baby sister. "There is nothing worse than dancing with your pinky toe sticking out of the side of your shoe. I find that the closer to the actual first waltz I can slip them on, the better."

The younger threw back her head and laughed at her sister's logic and with out warning leapt up and launched herself playfully at Susan, fully intending to tickle the daylights out of her. From the perimeter of the room, the nymph cast a knowing look at the Great Danes as one of Susan's slippers went flying in an arc across the room with a triumphant shout of "Ha! Now how do you like them apples?!"

A black and white Great Dane cocked her head. She did not understand some jargon her monarchs used at times. Certainly there were no apples to be had within the rooms. On the couch, Lucy had uncurled her sister's feet from underneath her and was presently tickling in such a way that the Gentle howled in uncontrollable laughter. The nymph noticed the dog's confused countenance and leaned in close to whisper, "A saying from Spare 'Oom."

"Stop it!" Susan requested between giggles so that it sounded more like 'stawit' than 'stop it'.

"Do you concede?" Lucy demanded through her own laughter.

"Aye." Came the answer laced with giggles. At her coincidence, the youngest Pevensie slipped off of the couch and with a crisp reply of "good" walked over to her vanity to check the damage of her hair while Su went off to gather her scattered slippers.

Within moments she joined her sister at the mirror and tended to smoothing her dark curls, not noticing Lucy's calculating glance. Many Narnians whispered that the Pevensie sisters were differing as vastly as an herbivore and carnivore did. Indeed, Lucy took in her big sister's proud countenance that always had looked so certain and that in itself was comforting. There was nothing spontaneous about Susan's looks. Everything was as solid and uniformed yet gorgeous at the same time-almost like a lovely marble statue made by the Great Masters. Her sister's hair, though loosely falling down her back, looked as if it always and still was made to be that way from the moment of Susan's birth.

Sighing a bit, Lucy clasped a string of pearls to rest at the hollow of her throat. About a year ago, she had let slip to Mrs. Beaver that she longed to be just as pretty as Susan when she was older. The aging beaver had shook her head and insisted that Lucy had a beauty all her own. Mrs. Beaver had insisted that it was if the very sun peeked out of Lucy's countenance. The very energy her disposition possessed had bled out onto her expressions and that was what made the Valiant equally beautiful as Su.

"Are pearls appropriate for this time of day?" The younger asked, taking in the effect of the white of the pearls and the white of the orchid.

"Pearls are perfectly fine at any time of day." Susan explained, sounding like a teacher at lecture. "'Tis diamonds that should not be worn until after sunset." Susan paused, noting how engrossed in her own thoughts her sister was and decided that vengeance for the foot tickling was at hand. A comfortable silence fell between the two until Lucy gave a yelp of surprise as Susan's barefoot came into contact with the younger's buttocks.

"How do _you_ like those apples, Lu?" Susan wondered casually with a smirk in place of laughter.

The sisters fell into a comfortable silence as they held up jewels against their skin to analyze the effect. The handmaidens had left briefly to assist one of the menservants tending to the kings, leaving the sisters alone in Lucy's chambers. Quietly Susan held up a brooch of amethyst, tiny opals and pearls and examined the effect of it sitting on the neckline of her chemise. "What do you think?" She inquired of her sister, "Looks rather stunning doesn't it."

"Aye," Lucy agreed, "you can borrow it if you ask."

"You borrowed it from _me_, Lucy Victoria Pevensie!"

Lucy made a face of disbelief as she placed a pair of simply gilded silver earrings on. "I do not recall such an event."

"You begged me to allow you to borrow it the time we went to Archenland's court last." Susan explained evenly, "And promised to give it back immediately, if I recall correct-" She cut off as the sound of furniture scraping reverberated across the room. Lucy's hand attached to Susan's wrist as if magnetized. Susan looked up from examining a cuff of fine dwarven gold and gasped as she saw through the mirror the large couch pull itself across the room to rest by the window. Then with out warning, a cherry wood table levitated, zipped across the room and stacked itself on top of the sofa.

Outwardly calm, Susan grasped Lucy's hand with her free one. "You know," She began in a voice that belied her calm reaction, "when I am faced with something scary, I make light of it." Lucy nodded although she did not believe such a jest would ease her amounting fear of the entity in the castle. Undaunted, Susan continued with false cheer. "It is obvious the ghost is dissatisfied with the room's décor."

XXXXX

From the other side of the doors to the great hall, Peter could hear the murmur of his subjects awaiting the monarch's entrance. In truth, the low hum of the Narnian court reminded him of the low pitch hum beehives emit. Around him, Edmund pulled at a stray thread from his deep green tunic. The younger brother looked to be bursting from boredom. However, like an excitable child disguised as a lovely young woman, Lucy flitted about the small foyer. She paused and pulled at Edmund to get him excited for the party. The Just gave her a sour face but Lucy just giggled and continued flitting like a blue satin streak about the room. Susan grinned at her sister's jests and with out warning spun her sister into an impromptu waltz with her matching gold and white slippers in one hand.

A laugh from the end of the room caused the girls to stop as Vitus strode the length of the foyer, readjusting the sleeves on his gray-blue tunic. "Looks as though a change has been made for the traditional first waltz." Vitus observed to the four as he made the finishing readjustments to his tunic. "I must confess that it shall be quite a sensational vision to have not only our Regal Queens dancing together but our Noble Kings as well."

Peter made a face that mimicked his brother's as he pursued the unholy itch across his chest that was caused by the gold embroidery on his gray tunic. He spoke over Susan's reprimands. "Aren't you supposed to be in the hall awaiting our grand entrance?"

"A minor set back, m'lord." Vitus laughed before bowing in the direction of the two queens. "I trust both of my Queens will do me the honor of reserving a dance?" His answer came in the slight incline of the oldest queen's head and with a nod, Vitus turned to exit. He paused for a moment and turned with a sly grin spread across his face. "Of course, I would hope my kings would grant me the same favor…"

"You're lucky you have diplomatic immunity, my friend." Peter laughed after Vitus. And with a frown, he commenced scratching at his chest again. His skin felt like it was afire and he could not imagine sitting though the beginning ceremony with out attacking the itch yet alone an evening of forced dancing.

"Peter!" Susan chastised at her brother's itching and taking a step toward him. "I hope this will not be a habit of the night."

"You're not allergic to the tunic's fabric, are you?" Lucy offered with a worried note in voice.

"He's worn the same tunic on other occasions and was not afflicted." Susan reassured Lucy with a flat tone as she bent to slip her shoes onto her feet. Once she did so, she took her place next to the High King with an accusing glare at him as Edmund stood next to Lucy, arm at the ready.

"Oh," Lucy pleaded to her siblings, "please do let us enjoy the evening. After all, an itchy tunic will not breed scandal, and boredom can easily be remedied." At the mention of boredom she cast Edmund a pointed look and placed her hand atop of his waiting arm. Edmund opened his mouth for a retort but the fanfare from the great hall cued the four's entrance.

The hall that once seemed so large now looked tiny in comparison to Cair Paravel's for the sheer number of Narnians in attendance. Garlands of the fall flowers - mums of deep reds and purples and bright yellow and orange marigolds- were draped across the railing of the landing that hung over the four thrones. Lanterns hung from almost every pillar and closer to the back, tables adorned in white linen and fall flowers were set up so that the Four's smaller subjects could still dance yet not get trampled in the many reels, waltzes, quadrilles, and country dances that would be preformed through out the night.

The four appeared on the landing like shining beacons of order and truth. A hush of awe and reverence fell over the crowd as the elder two descended from the right staircase and the Just and Valiant descended on the opposite side before the siblings met at the four thrones below the landing.. Like a wave, the Narnians bowed in their own ways as the four stood in front of their thrones. It was only when they took their seats, that the crowd rose.

A hush fell over the crowd as Vitus stood at the bottom of the dais, facing his monarchs. Ever since Aslan breathed life in the land, the bards recounted the history of Narnia before any ball or celebration took place. It was King Frank I who instated it as a way of reminder and to incite a feeling of gratefulness for all that the Great Lion had done for the Narnians. Reciting the deep history was quite an honor indeed and was only given to one who apprenticed the bard in charge of the practice. Peter could not help but remember with a grin that in the early days when he was training in the sword, spear and lance, Vitus had to endure hours of standing erect with a heavy tome above his head until he could recite a portion of history with out flaw. The political prisoner's master, an old faun by the name of Sergius, was stricter than Oreius by far and Peter found himself being grateful for his mentor.

Although it was the lad's first time reciting the history solo, he did not look nervous. (Thanks to a well timed glass of port.) At length, Vitus opened his mouth and began reciting on the same sustained note in a booming voice many did not expect he possessed. "At the dawn, when the Great Lion had breathed life into the darkness, King Frank and Queen Helen ruled with faith and justice. In the year 34, King Frank succumbed to death, leaving his son, King Frank II to take over his father's place. By the year 41, Frank II took a wife, the nymph Aramanta and with her by is side established the great dwarven mines of the Southern District…" He continued on the same note for about an hour or so, recounting the great accomplishments of every King and Queen of Narnia until he got to the Four. Although the Narnians took the recitation in with alacrity, feet began to fidget for the want of dancing. At last Vitus finished with the traditional ending, "May this history, council and guide our Kings and Queens, present and future, to be shining beacons of the Lion's example."

Wild applause met the living political treaty as he bowed deep to the Magnificent, Gentle, Just and Valiant and stepped aside. The four stood up and made their way down the dais to stand at the center of the floor. The faun and human musicians began to play a waltz that was said to have been passed down since Frank the First's time. As the song wore on, the only voice to be heard over the flutes and violins was Lucy's purposely loud exclamations of "Ouch!" as Edmund stepped on her feet. When the last trill of the flute announced the end of the waltz, the ball had officially began and Peter found himself assaulted by a gaggle of Narnian noblewomen of every species and age asking him to dance the next one with them.

The music and dances seemed to melt together to create a delicious kaleidoscope of brightly colored tunics, gowns, plumage and fur. Time seemed to have no sway at the assembly; such was the level of merriment. As the birds flitted around in a blur of plumage above the dancers, laughter seemed to cover every corner of the hall and Lucy could not help but banish the disturbing occurrences the castle warranted. A lovely Narnian tune had incited Lucy to join in an English Country Dance, a dance that had reminded her of the Virginia Reel she had seen Vivien Leigh dance in "Gone With the Wind". When the four had found out that the dance was originally introduced-and tweaked- by Queen Helen in the first year of Narnia.

Lucy "balanced back" with her partner, a jolly looking older human. The castle almost felt cheery and homey. She offered her partner her hands to "both hands" down the line and for the fist time in months, the dreams, the occurrences and the vision of the fox was driven from her mind.

Across the room, Edmund was engaged a heated debate over morality with Waylon and Dores, the Elderly Gentleman, a gray haired lady faun who was the sibling's philosophy tutor, and her husband. Despite his general dislike of balls, Lucy saw her brother's eyes alight with alacrity over the subject of whether or not something should be done for the benefit of many or for one. It seemed that he was doing quite well in the argument for although she caught glimpses of Edmund shaking his head in disagreement with his tutor, she also caught the pleased gleam in Indrani's eyes that only a teacher could possess when her students showed prowess in a subject.

With another skip Lucy and her partner did a "figure eight" with the couple right of them and she saw Peter dancing down the line with a spry dogwood dryad. Despite his reluctance to his popularity as a dance partner, Peter was visibly enjoying himself. With a large grin, he accepted the offer of the next dance from his contrary, a young freckled face centaur maiden, as if he was always born to be in the public eye. Lucy could not help but smile at how even when her brother was amid his subjects-an act that not many monarchs did in other countries- he still looked every bit the part of a High King.

A "three hand star" afforded Lucy the luxury to see Susan approaching Vitus-who was recounting tales to the children- to claim the dance she promised him several hours ago. Susan had left her curls hang loosely for the ball and Lucy had begun to see why several dances ago when her orchid began to hang precariously from her chignon. At length, Susan convinced the griot to join her for a traditional Narnian dance innovated by the fauns and dryads. The Valiant could not help let out a laugh at Vitus' face as Susan led him to the dancers to await the end of the English Country Dance. It warmed Lucy's heart to see the other three having such a grand time and that they had heeded her words several hours ago.

The dance ended and the queen curtseyed to her partner and decided to head off to goad Mr. Tumnus into another dance after a glass of mulled cider the castle's cooks had began serving. But the familiar shout of 'yoo-hoo' caused the young queen to look around to see which direction the cry came from. A smile spread across the Valiant's visage as Betsy Peahen fluttered her beetle-green feathers to capture her queen's attention. She stood on one of the tables for the smaller subjects in danger of being trodden during a dance and her husband, Sir Gallus Galewe.

"Betsy! Sir Gallus!" Lucy beamed, setting aside the goblet of barely sipped cider and greeting them with a gracious grin. "Well met! Well met! I hope you are enjoying the ball?"

Betsy clucked her approval loudly, for the laughter, stomps and music made it hard to hear anything without shouting. "Quite well, your Grace. Sir Galewe and I are quite enjoying ourselves. Why, I said to little Regina Bristlesplat that I wager there will never be such a collection of guests as merry as these." She paused and turned to her husband. "Is that not so, Sir Galewe?" Betsy twittered.

"As you say, Lady Galewe." Gallus responded in an unenthusiastic tone. It was common knowledge that the couple truly did love each other, yet it was Gallus' nature to appear perpetually annoyed and uninterested. Susan had constantly compared Gallus to a Mr. Palmer back in Finchley. She had described Mr. Palmer to be married a Charlotte Palmer but Lucy could not remember any neighbors or acquaintances of that name from Finchley. And so the reference was of completely no use to the Valiant.

"Are all your chicks here, Sir and Lady Galewe?" Lucy wondered politely for she had spotted Danilo across the room with a gaggle of fair geese and one of the recent clutch watching the cats near the stairs with a morbid interest. Moving among the crowd, Lucy saw Edmund moving towards them, helping Indrani steady the heavily pregnant Dores work her way around the room. There was no doubt that the overcrowding of the hall warranted air for the heavily pregnant woman.

"Aye that they are, your Highness." Betsy trilled and began pointing out every chick with Peahen blood in their veins. Lucy listened politely as Sir Gallus stood by with a polite disinterest. However there was one name that was not mentioned and Lucy felt compelled to inquire.

"And what of little Ove?" she wondered, craning her neck to look. "I do not see him about."

Betsy fluffed up at the mention of the little chick. No doubt she was still vexed with Ove for his actions against his youngest queen. "He was punished by not being allowed to come to the ball tonight with the rest of the family. Ove is in the coop near the East garden, your Majesty."

"We do express our sincerest apologies for our son's behavior, Queen Lucy." Gallus added sounding slightly less bored than before.

The queen opened her mouth to reply but Dores' greetings as she, Indrani and Edmund came closer stayed the young queen. Ed had a look of slight boredom on his face and Lucy could only surmise that it was because he was not debating about morals, ethics or military strategies. She cast him a teasing grin. "Lady Dores! Have you finally convinced my royal brother to dance?"

Dores laughed as the three came to a stop to speak with Lucy, Betsy and Gallus. "I fear one must see one's feet to dance, your Majesty." She told Lucy with a grin.

"It is a shame you do not dance as well as your elder brother, the High King, my Liege." Betsy told Edmund with a well placed trill. "Is that not a shame, Sir Galewe?"

"Exceedingly." Came the unimpressed reply as the rooster dipped his head in apology to his monarchs before he made his way across the table.

Lucy giggled and cast Edmund a twinkling glance. There was no doubt that she was enjoying the ball. In sooth, he was having a better time than he anticipated. After Susan's threat of exposing his well made plan to not dance at all, he worried that she would go on and one up his offer to Lucy anyway. But Lu held up his plodding like a true sport and though he would never admit it aloud, he was grateful to have a little sister like her.

Ever the voice of reason, Indrani spoke up. "Forgive me, your Grace, but the overcrowded room has left Dores quite uncomfortable. Your royal brother was so kind to offer his aid."

"That is well of him." Betsy commented with a proud cluck, "I must say our Kings and Queens are the paragon of all that is honorable and good in this world."

"You are too kind, Lady Betsy." Edmund responded dutifully as he led Waylon's wife away from his sister and the hen as the quadrille began.

As they wove through the crowd, Edmund could not help but notice Peter dancing with a beaming Mrs. Beaver. For his brother there seemed to be no escaping his destiny to dance with every female in Narnia through the course of the evening and although his silence on the séance did bother him, Edmund decided that it was a far better course than the one that was set before him if he broke his silence.

"Oh, look." Dores whispered to Indrani as they neared the stairs. Edmund followed his philosophy tutor's gaze to where Susan danced with Vitus. "I would have never have thought I would see the day…"

"I'm sure 'tis only a coincidence, Lady Dores." Indrani replied, looking back to observe as they ascended the stairs. Vitus had mentioned something unknown to Susan that made her blush and Edmund's impartiality evolved into a severe dislike.

As they reached the top, Indrani left her companions to open the door for the other two, leaving Edmund to support Waylon's wobbling wife who commented on a chill on the staircase. There was something unsettling about the cold to Edmund- it was almost unnatural. Even when he was imprisoned by the White Witch, he had never felt a cold as penetrating as the one near the top of the flight of stairs.

Not wanting to alarm his companion, Edmund kept his silence as he helped her onto the step before the landing. A laugh, as raw and as quiet as the wind, chortled in the Just's ear and simultaneously, he felt a hand quickly caress his cheek. "Now watch this, Child." A voice suggested with a laugh that the king could only describe as the purest evil. He took one step ahead of Dores to see if Indrani had heard the voice as well. The sudden foot fall of heels Edmund could not place startled him enough to turn around to the direction where they seemed to be heading.

He could almost hear the impact of hands slam against Dores' chest and with unnatural force and speed, the Archenlander wife of Waylon fell backwards down the stairs. Even in the shock of the initial moment, it was clear she did not slip. For no fall could ever produce one to tumble six times down the thirty-sum stairs. In one long drawn out syllable, the beauty and blithe feeling of the evening dissolved like the harsh winter snows did when Aslan stepped onto Narnia's shores five years ago. However the outcome- one of Narnia's own slamming hard onto the stone floor with a sickeningly loud crack of bone breaking-offered no hope and peace that the Son of the Emperor gave. The entity of the castle only offered fear and despair.

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**A/n: Well, the ball scene is finally done! Hooray! And I am proud to announce that the chap was beta-read by GemEncrustedEarth. On an unrelated note, I challenge you all to pick out the Jane Austen reference imbedded in this chapter. I was watching several film adaptations of Austen's books to get inspired for the ball scene and I was so affected that it just wrote itself in there. Anyway, thanks goes out to all my reviewers and readers as always.**


	10. Challenge issued

Lucy slid under her big brother's arm and instinctively Peter pulled her close to him. The corridor to Waylon and his wife's chambers was as silent as a tomb and all merriment of the evening had wilted like the orchid still attached to Lucy's hair. The only sound in the hall was that of Waylon's worried pacing. 

Susan sat rather unladylike against the wall with her head leaned back to rest against the stone and Edmund stood sullenly on the opposite side of the wall. He silently rued his held tongue, thinking that had enduring several evenings out of his reign being mobbed by noblewomen would have been a better fate than the one that his silence dolled out to Dores. Waylon and his wife had a closer bond with Susan than the other three yet, that still not dampen the fact that one of Narnia's own was wounded- and possibly dieing- because of a malevolent spirit. The grandness and the revelry of the ball could still be heard in the great hall, though it was clear that the assembly was sombered a great deal by the accident.

In the relative silence, the High King's scratching at his tunic sounded much like an army charging and Susan cast him a withering gaze. "If your tunic vexes you so, return to your chambers and change it." She reprimanded.

"And if my scratching vexes _you_ so…" Peter began, the seriousness of the situation weighed heavily against his nerves and he had no tolerance for Susan's nagging. He was cut off by the faun surgeon stepped out of the room. Instantly, the monarchs and Waylon stood in attention, the question on their minds lingered in the air. 

The faun, by name of Cyriacus, was a skilled in medicine and healing. He administered to each of the four in either sickness or injury before and it was common knowledge that there was hardly any in Narnia who could match Cyriacus. "The lady lives." He announced as Waylon made a move to enter the chambers. The faun's extended hand stayed him. "I can not say the same about the child, Master Waylon." 

The courtier made a strangled noise of grief and kicked the stone walls. His eyes were shut tight as if to think that if he did not see the good doctor, the reality that his first child was dead before its own birth would be a falsehood. Lucy left the High King's side and placed a hesitant hand on Waylon's back. Her touch was just as comforting as her presence and she could feel her friend's muscles lax. "Will my wife recover, Cyriacus?" Waylon wondered quietly.

The surgeon gave his kings and queens a hesitant look and his silence answered Waylon's question. "Perhaps I can help, Cyriacus?" Lucy wondered as her thoughts strayed to where she kept the cordial Father Christmas had given her half a decade ago. 

"I would refrain from that until absolutely needed, your Grace." The faun reassured the five with a bow. His tone was meant to comfort, but it belied the actuality that the cordial might be needed quite soon. At length he ushered Waylon to the threshold. "She does wish to see you." 

Cyriacus shut the door to offer the grieving couple privacy and then turned to his kings and queens. "I did not want to speak so frankly in front of Lord Waylon, your Majesties. I fear that he will be a broken man soon."

"Then, please, speak frankly now. He is out of the hall." Susan reasoned. Her voice sounded strained and ragged to her. She had always taken her strength from the idea that she had situations well in hand. But there were some things that her logic could not keep in control and unfortunately, this was one of those times. 

The faun mopped his brow and heaved a sigh. Even when they were newly crowned, Cyriacus held no fallacies in the presence of his monarchs. He knew the Magnificent, Just, Gentle and Valiant need not hear a honey coated diagnosis. "Queen Lucy, you might want to retrieve your cordial sooner than later. Lady Dores' tumble not only cost her the life of her child but I fear that she may have suffered internal injuries and those, unfortunately, are wounds I am powerless to bind."

"I will retrieve it the very moment you ask." Lucy reassured and the old faun bowed gratefully. 

"My thanks your Highness. If I may, I fancy a glass of spiced wine before the storm rages on."

Peter nodded his consent. Cyriacus was an exceptional doctor but the emotional tolls of his job were great and try as he may, he could not be apathetic towards his patients or their kin. Indeed, a glass of spiced wine or even port would do the good doctor well. "Let it be so, then my friend. We shall remain here incase anything should happen in your brief absence."

The faun bowed before turning and making his way back down to the party but Edmund's voice stayed him. "Cyriacus, if you can, gather the Council of Five." The other three gave Edmund curious looks, wondering why the Just had requested an audience with their five most trusted advisors but his face was void of explanation. The faun bowed once more and with a somber 'aye, milord', he turned on his cloven hoof and left.

"Edmund," Lucy began, despite sounding a little confused, she spoke for all of them, "why did you call the Council?"

In response, the Just held up a finger to signal them to wait a moment and led them into another sitting room. Silently, Peter made notice of the vast number of sitting rooms Susan had placed in the castle and decided to ask her later when situation and time permitted on the actual purpose of so many sitting rooms.

"Ed, don't beat around the bush," Susan half-chastised, half-reminded in a stern tone. She plopped herself on a backless wooden chair and crossed her legs impatiently. Lucy stood near Peter, seeking the reassurance and safety the presence of her eldest brother gave off. Neither of the four could put words to the fear they felt and in itself, the inability to verbalize such things only added to the feelings.

"I think we should acquit this castle." Edmund explained. "To be frank, if it wasn't for duty, I would be on the fastest charger and halfway to the Cair by now. But the fact remains that our actions are not only linked to us but the whole of Narnia as well."

"So you seek a second opinion?" Lucy wondered quietly. Edmund had taken the very words out of her mouth. She did want to flee. Away from the specters, to a place where the furniture did not move by itself and mutilated foxes didn't chase her in search of their kits. 

"Second opinion or not," Susan frowned, "If we do leave, half of the country's annual budget would have been spent with out the possibility of getting it back. We would have squandered the very bread of our people. A rescission might occur. And if we try to remedy that by raising the price of exports or the tariff on imports, we will loose trade with other countries."

"Calmorene is stingy enough to do that, but surely not the Seven Isles or Terebinthia would." Lucy spoke up, not wanting to Susan to rationalize away any hope of escape after winter.

Peter shook his head in thought and affectionately gave a sedate tug on his baby sister's hair. He was with Edmund and Lucy. In sooth, he wouldn't have waited to saddle up before he left. Yet, he had to admit it, Susan had a point. As much as he hated to agree with her on the matter, he had no choice. "Stingy or not, Lu, Calmorene, the Isles and Terebinthia have to support their people too."

"And what of ours?" Edmund interjected, trying his best to keep his temper as he took a seat. He had been taught that if his temper was lost, so was his side of the argument. However it took every fiber in his being to not loose his temper. "Need I remind you that a Narnian is dead and another might soon be? The spirit is obviously _not_ going to be happy living side by side with us. I was right near Dores when she was pushed-"

From the doorway, Oreius interrupted his monarch. "You summoned us, my Lieges?" A muscle on the centaur's flank twitched, indicating uncertainty in the small movement. Peter dutifully invited the council of five in. And the council complied with Indrani shutting the wooden door to allot privacy.

Oreius took his place by the window to allow the best view of all four of his monarchs' faces so he could know what they would not verbally speak. He had a vague idea of why the council was summoned. He could not shake the idea that it pertained to what had happened to Dores and Lucy's hallucination. What the correlation was between the two was, Oreius could scarcely guess. It was possible that the persistent young queen finally convinced her siblings to see it her way. 

"What news of Lady Dores, your Majesties?" Indrani queried from her post by the doorway. The grim looks on the four had her concerned and eager to see what weighed on their minds.

"The child is dead and Dores will likely not live to see the dawn." Peter explained in a tone that silently added 'But that's not why you were summoned'. He began pacing the length of the room, a habit he had fallen into when he was silently weighing all his options. Lucy instinctively moved closer to Mr. Tumnus, finding a substitute comfort in the faun's presence. 

Silence fell over the nine, leaving Oreius, Indrani, Mr. Beaver, the Elderly Gentleman, and Mr. Tumnus to eagerly await their High King to continue.

At length, the lady faun shook her head. "'Tis a pity, yet I would not expect a lesser diagnosis from such a trip."

"Dores did not trip." Edmund said, slightly more agitated than he wanted to sound. He sat up in his seat, to emphasize his point. "She was pushed."

Indrani frowned and cast Oreius a look of concern and doubt mixed together as Edmund explained further. "I heard a voice speak to me and when I turned around to see if you heard it as well, Indrani, I heard the impact of someone's hands hitting Dores and then she fell before I could grab her."

"Yet, there had to have been some one to have made the contact." The Elderly Gentleman reasoned with a casual lick of his paw. Although the occasion called for finery, the old cat of supposedly barn cat and leopard origin, still looked rather raggedy. His long ginger and smokey gray fur was void of nettles and dust. And a dark blue leather collar had been placed around his neck for decoration but for all his effort to look put together, his long fur could not be untangled. The four had decided years ago that the head of the guard was in a perpetual state of 'raggediness' and if E.G. (as they affectionately dubbed him to save breath) would have had well groomed fur, he would not be the hardened advisor they grew so fond of. "And as you said in the immediate aftermath, King Edmund, Indrani was no where near and you stood several steps above Dores."

Silence enveloped the nine once again as the old cat's explanation sunk into their minds like lead into the sea. Susan shifted her weight in her seat, nonverbally announcing her apprehensions about the conversation and Lucy inched closer to Mr. Tumnus. The High King never ceased in his worried pacing and the Just appeared to be conflicted with guilt the Council could not name. It had been obvious that the four did not summon the council to give an update on Waylon's wife nor to just sit there in private reflection. Beaver pinned his ears back in impatience. "With all do respect," he began, his thick accent making him sound falsely irked, "You summoned us to council but how can we when we don't know what is the matter?"

"This castle is haunted!" Lucy blurted desperately, throwing her hands out towards Mr. Beaver as if to get the full extent of her point across. Peter's exodus around the room halted, Susan sat up a little straighter and Edmund cast Lucy a look as if to say that she might as well have put her foot in her mouth. The council made individual movements in understanding; so _that_ was what was hounding them so. "We all have experienced something." Lucy continued in the same desperate tone. She looked as if she were about to weep and it was obvious how heavily the so called "haunting" was weighing on her. 

At length, she elaborated on the claim, not leaving any detail out. With every word, her story seemed to get wilder and harder to believe. Ghosts simply did not inhabit such places as this. No, they were more suited to the deep wood where the ancients had placed their dead or even in Calmorene where the entire matter would have been viewed quite fashionable. But the idea of the previous owner of the castle- Madame, as the four were calling her-was more likely the product of the swamp fumes or fatigue than an actual ghost. 

When Lucy finished filling the council in with her out burst, it was the five's turn to sit in silence. Could what their Kings and Queens say have a grain of truth? Or were their experiences products of indigestion, fatigue or even the marsh air? Their emotions were genuine, Tumnus silently reasoned. That was much certain. In the silence, Tumnus' Kings and Queens looked their ages for the first time in their reign. Instead of shining generals, diplomats and leaders, they looked more like four terrified children seeking comfort.

The Elderly Gentleman was the first to speak his mind, "I don't claim to know much about what goes on in others' heads, yet my Chielo mentioned to me once that the mind will play tricks when one doesn't sleep."

Susan's arms fell to her lap with a loud thump as she regarded the old cat as if she never saw him before. "Are you suggesting that we are not in our right minds, Master Cat?" she questioned icily.

Indrani stepped closer to her monarchs, as if her presence could placate them all at once. "Nobody is implying that, your Grace." She reassured the Gentle. "Is that no so, E.G.?" The faun cast the Elderly Gentleman a look that demanded he agree with her regardless. "Most things look better after a night's sleep." She finished, pushing the stubborn lock of her gray frizzy curls away from her face.

"We hope your Majesties are not ailing." Tumnus spoke up with a nervous twitch. "Neither of your Majesties have been yourselves as of late."

Mr. Beaver nodded and added passionately, "He's bloomin' right, you know. And the stress of new surroundings and Lady Dores' accident don't help neither."

Lucy crossed her arms in a slight move of frustration. Once again, they offered no comfort to the situation; they only offered frustration and doubt. She cast Peter a look from across the room as Indrani suggested they get rest and then address the situation later. The High King caught his youngest sibling's eyes and offered her a half smile as he raked his hand across the chest of his tunic. 

The Just sighed, thinking about the thousands of ways the conversation could have gone better. If their closest advisors did not even believe their claims, then any promise of comfort or relief was gone. How could they flee from a threat that their subjects were oblivious to? He hollowly reassured his tutor and the other council members that they would sleep on the situation and with an attempt to hide the mixture of disappointment, regret, fear and profound isolation he felt, dismissed the council to the disbanding ball. 

"By the Lion, Peter!" Susan snapped irritably once they were alone, throwing her bangled hands in the air. "Take the tunic off if it's irritating your skin so!"

The High King glared harshly at Susan for a moment, looking as if he were about to suggest where his sister could go. He honestly had more pressing matters to attend to than his younger sister's anal retentiveness. However, he knew that the longer he ignored her nitpicking, the less peace he would have. So with a grumble about her being anal, he took off the tunic that had plagued him all night, hoping that would be the last he would hear about it. "Did I miss how summoning the council would help, Ed?" He grumped to Edmund, turning to look out the widow.

"It _was _counter productive." The Valiant admitted quietly as she walked to Peter and commenced playing with the fringe of the curtains. "We're no better off from when we started."

"Worse off, I should say." Susan interjected from her seat with a sidelong glare at her kid brother. "The only purpose this meeting served was to assure us that, yes; we are not in our right minds. Very clever Edmund."

"I don't see you offering any solutions, sister." The young king shot back angrily stepping forward in a silent challenge.

"Actually, I did offer the solution of simply living like normal with the disturbances, but you three have this notion that it is evil incarnate and insist that we flee for our lives!" she shot back, crossing her arms in a snit.

"It _is_ evil incarnate, Susan! I tried to caution- how you became blinded to it, I have haven't the slightest clue but your friend dieing in the next room should offer proof enough of Madame's malevolence even for your pigheadedness." 

Her eyes grew wide at Edmund's accusations and her mouth formed a tight line that promised a verbal lashing. She stood up and raised herself to her fullest height in an attempt to match her younger brother. But before she opened her mouth, the High King turned from his silent thoughts and demanded in an authoritative voice, "Hold!" He opened his mouth to continue, but Lucy gave a gasp next to him.

"What by the Lion happened to your chest, Peter?" Lucy squeaked in concern, her fingertips hovering over three angry-looking welts spanning across the High King's chest. The row between the middle Pevensies was momentarily forgotten as Susan stepped forward to examine the welts. 

"Did you do this?" she inquired of the High King who gave an indignant snort in response.

"Aye, Susan, I figured that matters weren't stressful enough so I gouged these marks in with a fork when you weren't paying attention." He returned sarcastically, fighting the urge to cross his arms.

"These aren't scratch marks." The Valiant summed up, gingerly toughing the welts with her handkerchief and receiving a sharp intake of breath on her eldest brother's account.

"Then what the devil are they from?" Susan mused, the stubborn resolve in her voice fading into her trademark softness.

Peter shifted his weight, indicating that his sisters were a crowding him. "Burns like the fires of hell, though." He admitted and caught the Gentle's wide eyed concerned face.

"I have never seen such a wound dealt from any being, man or beast." Lucy concluded quietly. " This is obvious that whatever cause these gouges is not of this world. Shall I send for Cyriacus?" she wondered, making her way to the door before she even received her answer.

"Why bother? We already discovered that the court will not accept our explanation of the haunting. How else will we explain the welts?" Edmund spoke up evenly from the spot he had rooted himself in. "How will we explain any of the disturbances after this with out them thinking that we're not ourselves?"

Peter frowned at his brother as he picked up his vexing tunic, "So we keep this-" he paused and motioned to the marks on his bare chest, "and anything else that occurs silent? Seems counter productive."

"And what happens if we tell everything the ghost does to us? Our subjects will think we're ailing and incapable of leading. We won't get a moment to breathe to ourselves they'll hound us so. No, for our sakes, we'll keep quiet about these matters until the court comes to believe it themselves." Edmund reasoned with a sigh that sounded more defeated than he intended. "There is no golden solution that I can find in this situation. If we speak out, our wellbeing and possibly our sanity will be questioned. But the Lion knows what price our silence will bring."

"I'm sure that things will turn in our favor if others take notice of the ghost, though." Lucy reassured, striding to the High King's side once more and briefly looking out into the courtyard while Susan fussed over the welts on Peter. Her words gave no comfort to her, though. Even if others did take notice of the ghost, it was unlikely that they would step forward. The notion of the dead walking among them could seem quite absurd. 

In the dimly lit courtyard, she saw some of her subjects trickle out of the great hall. Adults looked concerned from the accident as fathers toted their tuckered out young. Some whispered, their heads bent in conference, over the night's pleasant and not-so-pleasant events. A white tipped red tail caught her eyes as the fox apparition she had seen the first day they had come to the place. As if knowing her thoughts, it turned to the window the Valiant looked from. The young queen was sure her very blood paused on its journey through out her body as the specter dipped its head in a sarcastic bow. A centaur walked through the fox, oblivious to the animal in its wake and Lucy gave a small gasp before quickly shutting the curtains. 

"And when will they take notice, Lucy?" Edmund asked shaking his head. 

"Let's not look on this so negatively." Susan spoke up, turning to address her younger siblings. She stood to her fullest height and jutted out her chin in an attempt to appear just as steadfast as their subjects noted her to be. "We can endure until the seasons change and we return to Cair Paravel." Doubt was laced in with the Gentle's voice as she spoke.

"It is fortunate that we're in this together, though and we know we are not fabricating falsehoods." Lucy reassured the other three as she determinedly grabbed the High King's left arm. Pointedly she told him that the welts-regardless of origin-needed to be cleaned and taken care of. The thirteen year old queen's gesture indicated that the conversation and the conference was over. Within their five year reign, the Pevensies had mastered the nonverbal dismissal technique and utilized it habitually. Susan muttered about checking up on Dores and followed her eldest brother and only sister out the door. 

Only Edmund remained, with his guilt for not judging the "séance situation" better. The art of discerning morality and law from depravity and chaos had been a long studied passion of his. Always feeling the weight of his crown, King Edmund had known from before the battle of Beruna how his actions affected the lives of those who surrounded him. He knew it better than the back of his very hand how one faulty decision could stain his hands with the blood of Narnians. 

Frowning at his predicament, the Just picked up a small decorative Calmorene box of gleaming bronze. 'I might have as well pushed that woman from the top of the stairs.' He thought bitterly to himself as he fiddled with the trinket one of his sisters had acquired at some arbitrary point in time. 'How could I have been blackmailed into silence when I knew no good would have come of communing with this _thing_ in this castle?' The fall was certainly no accident and in his heart, the young king knew that it was all because Dores had led his sister to provoke what ever was within the battlements. He prayed that Su's folly would not bring her the same fate as Waylon's lady despite the fact that his anger towards her was as heated as white flame.

The blood that had been spilt that night might as well have been on his own hands. How could he have allowed Susan to sway his resolve and sense of morality all because she utilized his hatred of dancing? With a scowl, the Just tossed the small bronze box across the room, angered at how the night's events had gone completely awry. The entire scheme to avoid dancing had cost the life of an unborn child, the suffering of a mother and the emotional ruin of a father. And the attempt to get support from the four's most trusted advisors had, no doubt, led to the monarchs' backs up against a wall. 

"If you have the fortitude to do so," Edmund snarled to the empty sitting room as he addressed Madame, "pick on somebody who is a decent opponent. Cease from terrorizing pregnant women and girls and attempt to intimidate me, if you dare!" From across the room, a wind as cold as the grip of death extinguished the fire place and candelabra meant to light the room, despite the lack of open windows, and plunged Edmund into darkness. Icy fear swept up the young king's spine and he had instantly wished he had not been so rash to have opened his mouth. He could not help but take that as Madame's way of accepting his challenge.

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**A/n: sorry updating took so long. Writer's block hounded me until I realized that the first scene in and of itself was a suitable chapter. Not much happened here in the scare department, but things needed to be explained. Thanks for being so patient and thanks to all my reviewers and readers. I apologize if there is some grammar issues. My beta reader decided she needed sleep and is quite cranky if�she is disturbed. **


	11. Chaos and reprocusions

Heaving a sigh, Queen Susan placed a hand to her forehead in hopes it would soothe the growing pain that pounded at the front of her head. The footsteps of Lucy practically dragging Peter down the hall to her parlor to clean and dress the scratch marks and the sound of Edmund mumbling to himself in the other room, blared like a trumpet's blast into sensitive ears. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in her large state bed, to wake up to the daylight and leave the nightmare behind.

Across from her the door to Dores' chambers appeared uncommonly imitating to the young queen. She had comforted the dieing before when she ventured with Lucy to the battlefields and consoled uncountable mothers, wives, daughters and sisters as they waited, fearing the news from the battle front would bring word of their loved one's demise. As Queen, she had been used to joining in a vigil as a loved one swayed between life and death. Yet she did not want to go into that room and see the mentor (who was her rock in the storm) crumbling. Susan leaned against the doorpost, gripping it as if it was her only tether to the ground or if the frame of the door would give her the strength to enter the sickroom.

As Edmund raised his voice to himself, an act he usually did when he was internally conflicted, the Southern Sun could not help but feel in the back of her mind that the castle was built for bloodshed. She closed her eyes to banish the morbid thought from her mind, not noting that the physician exited the sickroom until he spoke to her.

"My Lady." Cyriacus began and received a shocked yelp from the Gentle. Quietly, she apologized, saying she did not think he would be back from his port so soon. The faun cocked an eyebrow in suspicion. It did not take a well learned creature to tell his Queen was suffering from stress and sleep deprivation. Even in her finery, she appeared ashen and drawn instead of possessing a healthy glow. "Perhaps you should like to lie down, your Highness?" Cyriacus questioned, knowing that unlike her brothers, Queen Susan would admit to not feeling well off the bat instead of hiding any ailment.

She gave the physician a strained smile before politely declining the offer and promptly changing the subject. "How is Lady Dores, Cyriacus?"

The faun's straight expression turned grim and his mouth formed a doubtful line as he shook his head, at a loss of what to say. "She is asking to speak with you, Queen Susan. But, my Lady, I fear that I must go and fetch your sister and her cordial within the hour. She is fading fast and barely coherent."

At the diagnosis, Susan stood up right and began to walk to the chamber. Duty was far too much ingrained in her to refuse a request from a dieing subject. With an off hand reply of, "Queen Lucy is in her parlor with the High King.", she dismissed Cyriacus and began to enter the room, worrying what she would see within.

As soon has her bare foot stepped beyond the threshold, the thick and weighty shroud of impending death filled the room. In any other circumstance, the room was designed quite comfortably. Bookshelves lined a corner of the room and delicate odds and ends were meant to give the room a homey touch. But death's shroud had been tossed into the surrounding air and all that they could do was to helplessly watch it float down to cover them, sucking out all of the hominess. Queen Susan paused before continuing in, mentally telling herself that she was being over dramatic.

Waylon sat next to his wife's bedside, oblivious to the fact that one of the royal family entered. Had it been any other situation, not standing to acknowledge a monarchs' presence would have been cause for reprimand or looked down upon severely. But it was not another situation, no matter how much Susan and Waylon willed it to be. The young courtier looked as if one touch would cause him to crumble into insanity or despair. He sat hunched over, elbows resting on his knees and his head cradled in his hands. Softly he mumbled either to himself or to a higher power in prayer. Susan was too far away to tell which it was and decided that it was better to not pry into the matter.

For a brief minute, the sixteen year old queen, the very picture of poise and grace felt like a gawking child back in London. The image of her uncle on his death bed came to her mind. He had been in some sort of automobile accident and was rushed to hospital when she was ten. Her mother received Grandmum's frantic wire, informing them of the news. With no sitter available, Mum had no choice but to bring Susan and the other children with her to the hospital.. She had never seen her mother break down in tears and when she was discovered by the door was scolded by Grandmum then shooed away. Half of her expected to be shooed away from Dores's deathbed as well and in sooth, part of her hoped for it. But the feeling was fleeting and in a moment she was the gentle queen of Narnia once more. Taking a deep breath, she entered the chambers, making a beeline to her old friend.  
"Waylon," she began softly, like a mother coaxing her child.

"We were supposed to be bent from age when this happened." Came his voice, muffled from his hands. He looked as if his mind was teetering on the fringes of reality and the Gentle was unsure if he had even realized her presence yet.

"I know." Was all she could reply, knowing that the two words were not sufficient to ease the man's suffering. Unsure what to do she bade her friend to look up at her with every ounce of gentility her nature offered. It did not take much coaxing for him to respond and like a half-dead man, Waylon rose to meet his queen. "Waylon, do take time to tend to yourself." Narnia's eldest queen suggested as she gently rubbed her mentor's back in a soothing circular motions. "There is nothing more we can do at this time."

He hollowly nodded in response. He and Dores were less than five years senior to the High King. And Waylon could not help but see his path of life with his dear wife forced to split, making him detour before they met again. The enigmatic young man could not help but remember when the accident had initially happened, he expected his wife to pop up to her feet and laugh like it was all a grand joke. Indeed Waylon half believed his ears when the Cyriacus told him his unborn babe was dead. But the dreamlike events had all disintegrated when he was hit with the reality of his beloved wife lying stricken in the large bed; the reality of it all had smacked him in the face like a glove announcing the challenge of a duel. He nodded as Queen Susan spoke rationally to him about something or another. He had not the heart to listen, even to the monarch he regarded as kin. All was hollow and was threatening to remain so. How he wanted to make sure his wife knew she was his morn and evening. How he would have loved her better if the had known this was to come to pass. As time and the Queen's words wore on, Waylon found his body responding to a request to "tend to his own needs" while the queen stood watch.

"Aye, Gentle Susan." He responded as if cued to say that as he moved to the door and left the queen in the room with a dieing woman.

With a softness that was unnecessary, Susan sat in the chair Waylon had previously occupied and for the first time since she entered the room, got a good look at Dores. Cyriacus mentioned that the woman was asking for her, but Dores had seemed to have fallen out of consciousness since then. Dores's hair had come out of its sleek bun from the evening's events and most of it hung limply around her like a doused halo. One rouge lock of hair had plastered itself to the lady's sweat covered face and softly, Susan stood to correct it. Dores' face was unnaturally ashen and Susan knew that it was the color of one soon to expire. Susan had seen many a dead and dying person in her short 16 years and yet her friend's face held none of the peacefulness of an oncoming endless sleep. It was almost contorted in a frightful and almost vicious countenance. The young queen was able to see the blue threads of veins all up Dores' exposed forearm that lay limply beside her form.

Knowing that it would give her more comfort than the inflicted woman, the young queen took the hand of the woman who had been her source for all things feminine and queenly. Silence hung in the room as Susan's vigil began to grow in length. She had no clue how much time had transpired since she had entered the room. Everything that had come to pass that evening was a blur ever since Vitus had jokingly requested a dance of his monarchs.

With a silent snap, the stricken woman's eyes flew open like a spring released from its confines. Bulging blood-shot eyes locked the queen in an unwrenchable gaze. In all her years, Susan had never wanted to run from a person's deathbed yet this was sure to be a first. It took every ounce of duty she could muster to stay in her seat. Dores's unsettling gaze did not waver, making it absolutely impossible for the Southern Sun to look anywhere but at her friend's countenance. Then, the almost gossamer transparent hand reached out and latched on the queen's wrist like a vice. Her grip was unnatural and Susan could not help but bend under the pressure as she heard a snap from where Dores had gripped. Jagged dots and lines filled the queen's vision as white hot pain traveled up Susan's arm and her wrist bone buckled in half under the pressure of Dores' grip. The Southern Sun barely recognized her voice as she screamed for the aid of anyone in ear shot.

* * *

The High King took a sharp breath as Lucy cleaned the wounds across his chest. They did not look terribly deep but the Valiant decided that cleansing the gouges would prove better down the road than leaving them be for infection to set in. She had drug Peter to her personal sitting chambers in case she had to make a dash into her bedchambers for the flask of cordial Father Christmas had given her.

Peter had been quiet for quite some time; in what Lucy could only guess was deep thought as to what were the four to do next. His sharp breaths were stemming from frustration for Lucy knew how powerless he felt to protect his family and Aslan's. "Aslan knows how you got these, Peter." the youngest Pevensie spoke up in an attempt to get him to open up to her.

"Aslan had nothing to do with these wounds. We all know that they are the product of this 'Madame'." The High King responded with his gaze fixed ahead as if transfixed with the tangled mess of his baby sister's knitting that was discarded on a chair across the room.

"Best not tell anyone about this though." Lucy mumbled in a slightly bitter tone while setting the cloth aside to pick up fresh dressing. "'Tis not as if a soul would believe our words. I suppose the situation is suited better that way."

"Nay, Lu. I can quite imagine a worse fate than unbelief of this ghost." Peter disagreed, shifting his weight in his seat. The idea of a worse scenario had weighed on him since the incident earlier that evening at the ball and in sooth; it unsettled him more so than the situation that they were in. "Suppose everyone knew that this castle is haunted by a violent ghost."

"That would be a relief, in truth. We would not be bound to stay in this wretched place until spring." Lucy responded with a small laugh as her hands skillfully circled the king's torso.

The High King shook his head, knowing Lucy would answer so before she even spoke. Despite her being wise before her time, his baby sister was not immune to thinking like the teenager she was becoming at times. "Answer me this, Lu: How fast would you be out if duty did not confine us here?"

His sister gave a snort and responded while subconsciously tightening the wound's dressing. "You must forgive me, but I wouldn't even pause to saddle my mare and though I care about you, Susan and Edmund, I don't think I'd look back to see if you were still saddling up your horses. And I'd wager your three would do the same." She was exaggerating and both brother and sister knew it, yet her answer sufficed to prove the Magnificent's point.

"And think of our subject's actions if they recognized what we know."

The Valiant paused for a moment, realizing what Peter had been driving and what he was pondering for so long. "'Twould be chaos." She summed up, rolling up the excess bandages.

"Aye. And I was just pondering how we would handle mass panic if it spread through out these halls." Peter finished as he twisted his upper body to test Lucy's mending job.

Narnia's youngest queen opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by a hedgehog page scurrying into the room and reported. "Sire! You're presence is needed in the courtyard." The little hedgehog panted, making it obvious that the situation was dire, indeed.

"What ever is the problem, Bonsai?" Lucy wondered, placing the fresh bandages into the basket she kept them in. The High King stood at the very mention of trouble and tossed the tunic over his head, hiding the bandages across his chest.

"It's Fungus Bristlesplat, m'lady." Bonsai responded with an anxious bow and a rough accent. "He's gone plumb crazy, he has! Shouting in the courtyard about a curse on the castle and how he refuses to stay another night on this evil ground. At first everyone simply dismissed Fungus as a ranting old coot, but that's not why I came to retrieve you, Sire. With the disappearances and all-"

"Hold." Peter demanded, holding out one hand and placing the other on his temple to ease his oncoming headache. Hedgehogs were jittery little creatures, favoring giving a mouthful of information at once and while they had their uses in society, they never ceased to give the High King a splitting headache with their information overload. The elderly meerkat making a scene was a quick fix but how could there have been disappearances with out his knowing about it. "Speak again of the disappearances, Bonsai. Calmly, this time if you please."

" 'Tis the Peahen-Galewe chick, Ove, and two of them Bristlesplat pups, sire. Stayed behind from the ball for one reason or another." Lucy cast the Magnificent a look. Both monarchs knew the "reason or another" why Ove did not attend.

"What of them, Bonsai?" King Peter questioned, attempting to make sense of the events. The hedgehog had an accent that was hard to comprehend and disappearances were the least welcome news on this of all nights.

The hedgehog seemed hesitant to speak and Lucy quickly set her basket into her bedchambers and closed the door to be near when the story unfolded fully. "They've…vanished, sire." Bonsai related, wringing his small paws. "The Peahens returned from the ball to find their Ove gone. Sir Gallus has searched all over the coops and the Bristlesplat den. I heard told that 'lil Ove came by to the den and went off to play with wee 'lil Sarah and Salvatrice Bristlesplat and that is the last anyone has seen of the three as of yet. And now Miss Avril is in hysterics and Fungus is raving like a lunatic. 'This place is evil.' Fungus says and then 'These disappearances attest to that.' He says that if we had a lick of sense, folk would leave with him. Folk are rushing to make sure that their young sleep soundly in their beds while others condemn them as fools for listening to a senile meerkat. And poor Miss Avril is beside herself because some of the meerkats are heeding Fungus' word and aren't concerned with the disappearances of her wee ones. Oh, tis chaos in the courtyard, Sire."

Peter nodded and walked to the door. He paused at the threshold briefly with the bumbling hedgehog almost running into his legs. Looking back at Lucy, Peter instructed more than asked, "Keep me updated with Dores' condition, sister. Let us hope that the children can be found." The High King turned on a dime and strode down the hallway.

With the sitting room to herself, and nothing to do on her hands but wait for her cordial to be needed, Lucy sunk down on a large cushioned chair to reflect on the evening. She could not help but take a tally on the night's losses. An unborn child was dead with the prospect of its mother to follow and then the disappearances of Sarah, Salvatrice and Ove. It was a grim total and a dark reality within the queen knew to count the chick and two pups on the list. In her heart, she knew it was useless to search for the youngsters for they were taken as a bloody payment for trespassing on Madame's grounds.

The Valiant allowed her head to dip in sleep and its grip held her for an unknown amount of time. Her dreams were twisted, dark visions of what she was sure was the future. The dream that had haunted her for months had returned with a grim realization that the hall in her dreams was the hall that she had danced in that night. Visions of a dark shadow encompassing Susan and a look of agony on Edmunds face filled the ghastly nightmare. It was only when a blood-curdling scream Lucy identified as Susan's pierced the night that the visions subsided. In a shot Lucy was out of her chair, tossing off sleep's veil, and made her way quickly to Dores' chambers where the scream came from. Rushing to her sister's aid did not shake the visions from her dream out of her mind though, nor did the fact that she awoke before she saw her own fate.

* * *

Fungus Bristlesplat's crotchety voice rose above the howling wind that blew through the courtyard, scattering dry, dead leaves into forlorn dances. A crowd of about thirty had gathered around the meerkat family's den. Fear was painted on some faces whereas doubt appeared on others. Betsy Peahen sobbed near the front, with her remaining chicks all but plastered to her feathery sides. She regretted being so harsh on her son that day and blamed herself for what had happened to him and the pups.

"This castle will be the death of more than these young ones!" Fungus attested, lacking all but a soapbox to stand on. Betsy let out a strangled wail that rose over the crowd and some murmured in agreement with Fungus or in sympathy for poor Lady Peahen.

Slowly, a mixed agreement bubbled amongst the crowd as Avril scurried across the den. She was renowned to have constant composure, save when there was familial dysfunction but the disappearance of her pups had hit the dominant female hard. When the lame relative, Valerious gave her the news, she had disowned him. And had devoted the minutes to calling for her pups who might never come home. Oblivious to the crowd that surrounded her home and her family looking on helplessly, she stood on her hind legs and emitted a forlorn chirp that rose with the wind.

"I swear on my sweet Blueberry's grave, this place is full of evil spirits!" Fungus attested wildly, waving his paws in the air. "They attacked me as soon as we stepped foot in this wretched place." A murmur spread through the crowd wondering what if the old meerkat's claims were valid.

The High King descended the stairwell with the hedgehog nervously leading the way. The crowd, unknowing of their leader's presence was transfixed on the old meerkat. Peter made his way to the crowd but was stayed by the strong arm of Oreius blocking his path. "A moment, King Peter." The centaur whispered into the High King's ear as Vitus appeared from a side door. Confusion was painted on the youth's face. Peter had not seen his friend for a good portion of the night and had no time to inquire nor care. The look in the general's countenance told Peter that he wanted to speak in confidence and so with a nod of his head, the Magnificent dismissed the jittery hedgehog.

"You wish to speak to me, old friend?" Peter wondered with a quizzical tone, motioning for Vitus to stay near for a quick word afterwards. "With all do respect, it must wait for a few moments. Fungus is raising a near panic. Order must be restored." His words held a hint of fatigue. One tragedy seemed to follow another in quick succession and several hours of sleep was not the best template to paint disaster on.

"About that, sire. Do not take this lightly sire."

The High King's hand found his forehead. Panic needed only a spec of doubt to take root and the last thing the four needed was mass panic. He had no time to contend with children who were probably hiding in the armory or some such and he told Oreius so before censuring himself. As soon as the statement flew out of Peter's mouth he wished he had not said it.

"Certain scars in Narnian history are still sore. Ages before, an evil spirit would steal the children out of their very homes if it was given a chance. Most everyone knew some family who lost a little one to this evil. And when the witch came, the disappearances mercifully stopped. Evil doesn't enjoy company, King Peter. But just the same, unless a thorough search is underway, any attempt to retain order will be futile." Oreius explained quietly so as to not be over heard. He looked as though for a moment he wanted to say something more but decided to censor himself. Behind them Avril's increasingly desperate and shrill calls hung in the air over Fungus' claims. Murmurs were running through the crowd, expressing sympathy for Avril and slowly coming to an agreement with what the old preaching meerkat was saying. A cold, wet autumn wind swept through the courtyard and chilled the High King's very blood.

Peter nodded in understanding and opened his mouth to respond but a shrill scream sharper than any blade filled the air. The crowd gasped with a fear that was growing by the moment. Whispers of it possibly coming from the lost children snaked around the frightened assembly but a disagreement soon circled around. The scream sounded far too feminine to belong to any of the children.

"The girls!" Peter whispered to Oreius so not to incite more panic. He turned to the stairs, Rhindon's pommel in his grasp and instructed grimly, "Vitus, calm the crowd and Oreius take every guard, every able bodied Narnian in this area to search for the children. Do not let the rest know any of what transpires outside the outcome of the search.

* * *

Darkness was beginning to creep into Susan's vision as she sank to the floor, letting out another cry of pain. She could feel warm blood flow down her arm as Dores' grip tightened. A fresh wave of pain radiated through out Susan, sending a white sparks through her vision. She knew that the hand that gripped her was her friend's. The queen opened her mouth to scream, bending her head and causing her crown to fall to the floor with a soft clatter, yet no sound came from her mouth. "My roots have already dug in." The woman in the bed reminded Susan in a voice that was not human. "And you're powerless to stop it."

* * *

**A/N: I know, I know. I take so long to update and end in a cliff hanger. But cliffhanger or no, here she is! Please tell me what you think! Several scenes from chap 12 are written and hopefully they will be up before june 13****th****. Please read my update notice on my profile for more information on that. I think i could have done more with the panic but this chap was taking forever to write. oh well. As always, thanks to those who read and review! You lot rock!!**


	12. Pray for one's soul

No sooner had the room been plunged into darkness, Edmund heard his sister's cry from across the hall. It was not a cry of woe but a cry of agony and that concerned Edmund more than any other sound he had heard that night. Within moments his blade was drawn and he reached to fling open the door but he found the threshold remained stubbornly in its place. Several hard yanks and it still did not falter and at the sound of another scream, Edmund doubled his efforts to get out of his current prison. When it did not budge an inch, the Just called out for his older sister.

"Sire?" the voice on the other side of the door that inquired was not Susan's but that of Cyriacus. Concerned, flustered and confused, the surgeon called for King Edmund again, "My Liege?"

"Cyriacus!" Edmund called hoping that the faun could offer assistance with the door or even news of what had attacked Susan.

A new voice called out to Edmund. It was a feminine voice seeped in worry but it belonged to the wrong sister. "Ed!"

"Lu?"

"Sire?"

The door rattled from the other side in an attempt by the surgeon and Lucy to aid Edmund. Another scream emitted from across the hall and Edmund doubled the efforts to get out of the room's only exit. "Susan!" It was Lucy's gasp that time and it was followed by the surgeon's fearful and unbelieving muttering of "By the Lion!" Taking his shoulder to the wood, Edmund put all of his strength to the door praying that it would budge.

By the third try the door gave way as if it were never latched at all and the Just was forced to regain his footing so as to not run into anyone. Within moments Lucy was by her brother's wondered why Lucy and Cyriacus were not inside the sickroom tending to what ever had attacked Susan.

He cast his eyes to the room where Susan's cries of pain were emanating. Candlesticks, vases, inkwells, parchment, chairs, bedside tables- all that could be carried- flew about the bed in wild circles. Susan was in the middle of it all, her face was ashen and her eyes were contorted in a mixture of agony and fear. The rigid form Dores' form began to levitate from the large bed taking Susan along with her. The woman's bulging blood shot eyes began to turn a soulless black and all Edmund, Cyriacus and Lucy could do was watch Susan lift her head slightly to look, caught in a silent scream. It was quite clear to Edmund that the arm was broken. It was contorted in a sickenly odd angle and the jagged white bone jutted out from her arm.

"This is _my_ castle, child of Helen." Dores explained to in a deep gravely voice that held no human warmth in it. As Dores spoke in a voice that was not her own, Peter, Oreius and several body guards came skidding down the hall, blades raised. Confronted by the scene, Peter muttered an oath as what ever was speaking in Dores' place continued. "There is no force that can sway me from getting my revenge. I have already whetted my appetite with the blood of your miserable country's youth. My hunger is insatiable…and you, Child Queen will help me in the end."

Peter muttered an oath as he made his way to the door, determined to dodge the objects in motion. All at once, they whizzed towards the High King at alarming speeds. At the last moment Oreius tackled Peter out of the way as a candlestick pierced the wooden door that the High King had stood in front of moments before. What ever was holding Susan and Dores captured certainly did not want brothers or kings rushing in to save the day. In a brief moment, the doctor regained his head and with a pointed look to a gray fox bodyguard and demanded that Waylon was found with all haste. As the fox skittered away, he resisted the urge to tuck his tail between his legs as he ran. The scene was a horrid one to encounter for a young fox yet to bare his teeth in battle, after all.

From with in the room, Dores gave out a strangled cry in her own voice, however strained as it was. "It was provoked, my Lady," the thin voice told Susan. "The spirit pushed me down th-" Dores paused, taking a sharp intake of breath from pain.

Lucy strained her neck to see and hear the going-ons as the objects still orbited around her sister and courtier. Peter, Edmund and Oreius had begun conferencing in brief urgent tones as to how to get Susan out of the precarious situation, though their eyes never left their target. Lucy briefly wondered what would happen to Dores as the faun's hand enclosed around the young Queen's shoulder. "My Lady," Cyriacus whispered with grim lines about his face, "if there ever was a time for the cordial that Father Christmas gave you, it would be now."

Lucy nodded and sprinted the way she came, willing her foggy and tired mind to recall where she set her cordial and why she had ran out of her chambers with out it. She passed the little gray fox and Waylon sprinting to where she had just run from. Things were happening at lightning speed, too fast to think, too fast to react. What ever happened that made the ghost in the castle turn so violent so fast must have been something profound, Lucy decided. A sense of impending doom began to bubble up into the Valiant's throat along with the cold taste of fear at the thought of how helpless she felt a few moments ago with Susan's cries of pains and Edmund's curses and bangs on the door reverberated in her ears.

Lucy reached the door to her chambers and paused in the threshold. Although she had left the room encompassed in a warm light from her wall sconces, it had plunged into a thick darkness. The thirteen year old in the Valiant cried for her to not enter and for her mother. Another room with a cozy fire and a cat curled on her lap was what her mind told her to enter, not this strangling darkness. But the ashen face of Susan and the intensity in everyone's voice spoke louder than her fear. Dores was sure to die if Lucy did not return with all haste. And so the queen took a tentative step inside the room, pushing the fact that the air was dense and ice cold, making breathing difficult.

She nearly ran into her dressing table as she made her way into the sitting room. Her hands groped in a panicked speed, looking for the flint to light her candelabra. The air was thick and it seemed as though something moved swiftly in the darkness. Lucy doubled her efforts, dropping the flint on the floor. After several tries, a weak light lit a small circle around Lucy's feet as she combed the room looking for her cordial. It wasn't in her sewing box, or on the mantle, next to her book or on the chair. Each second brought panic clouding her mind until realization struck her.

"I set it near my bedside table!" she murmured to herself quietly and began to make her way to the slightly ajar door. Her hand touched the cold metal handle and Lucy could not help but notice how her breath came out visibly in shallow puffs. The Valiant's fingers enclosed around the handle and a force threw her across the room. Lucy's back hit the far wall with full force, knocking against the wall with a sickening thud. In a pile of skirts, Lucy crumpled to the floor, almost too shocked by the force of the impact and suddenness if being thrown, to see the door to her bedchamber-and to the cordial-slam shut. The world spun and her head throbbed where it met the wall. Beside her, her candle had gone out, plunging the room in darkness.

A pressure began on the young queen's throat, as if a giant's hand was encircling her neck. Panic rose in her throat as she realized that she was the only one in the room and as the cold pressure on her throat tightened. She was going to die in that room. Killed by a foe she could not see and never would she be able to have tea with Mr. Tumnus again, nor go for rides with Susan. There was something else, though…something that seemed so important a few moments ago…she tried to recall it but her mind could not form around it and the force was making her breathe in strangled, short gasps. A noise came from her throat in an attempt to get air, though it hardly seemed human to her. The world began to turn fuzzy and a reflex in Lucy demanded that she fight with all of her strength. Kicking and flailing, the young queen did just that though the invisible hands did not wane.

"My Queen!" A startled cry came from the door way and as the Elderly Gentleman entered from the hall, the pressure retreated and air came spilling into Lucy's lungs making her chough and sputter on the floor. Lightly the large old cat rested a paw on her arm and retracting it, let the multicolored paw stay suspended. "Easy, there." He instructed to his queen, bidding her to take slow, deep breaths until her chest rose and fell in an easy pattern. Observing the young monarch, the old cat noted how pale and drawn her face was and how her pupils were wider than what they should have been even in a dark room. "Can you tell me what happened?" E.G.'s gruff voice held what little tenderness that his personality allotted. With missing youngsters, a dieing woman, a mass panic at hand and now half of the monarchs injured, it was shaping into a hectic night.

The Valiant's eyes centered on space as she spoke slowly, "I was coming here for something…and-and…I was thrown across the…um…room…" There was something she had to do, something she needed to tell the old cat, but her mind was not able to figure out what it was. Her world was spinning and she found the words she needed slipping away from her tongue. She sat there for a moment, attempting to figure out why she was supposed to be in her chambers. And then from across the room the door to her chambers creaked slowly open and Lucy recalled what she was there for. "My cordial! E.G., can you fetch my cordial from the dresser?"

The cat dutifully ran to retrieve what his queen requested as Lucy attempted to stand. The world around her spun but she tried to put it from her mind. As nauseating as being dizzy was, Lucy _had_ to deliver her cordial. E.G. retrieved the little vial as requested and as he passed it into the young Queen's hands he flicked his bushy tail in suspicion. He wasn't too keen on the way Queen Lucy was swaying precariously on her own feet.

"Are you certain your able to walk, Majesty?" he inquired, not beating around the bush.

Replying with a distracted 'aye' and began to run to where she had come from with E.G. shortly on her heels. Her head throbbed with every step she took and her neck pulsed from where she was choked. Only one thought consumed her and made one foot go in front of the other. 'They may die.' She told herself to the rhythm of her breathing and strides, 'Su and Dores may die. The blood of your subject and sister is on your hands if you don't hurry!'

As she got closer, she heard raised voices in a jumble. Though all were speaking at once and it was impossible to discern who spoke what. The young queen skidded to a halt and with relief found her brothers inside the room with the good surgeon and Waylon.

Father Christmas's gift had allotted the young girl entrance to many a sick-chamber and she tried her best to walk over and around the strewn objects on the floor. At Dores' bedside, Waylon knelt with his hand in hers, urgently pleading with her to stay with him. The nobleman's head was bent, dark circles had appeared under his eyes and he had seemed to have consumed a considerable amount of liquor between the time he was informed of the sad news of his child. Waylon seemed to radiate desperation in his body carriage and in his voice as he assured his wife that she would live to see another child grow under their care. His tone was desperate, like the frayed end of a rope being strung through a small ring. All comfort the teenager had associated Waylon with was fading in the moment and it was hard to see such a rock-like figure in her life crumble.

Susan stood at the foot of Dores' bed; thankfully no worse than when Lucy had left. The Gentle held her broken arm close to her body and her uninjured hand held a rag to the wound to staunch the bleeding from the protruding bone. Susan's face was ashen and covered with a mixture of fear and pain that she tried to hide from their brothers. Peter and Edmund did not seem to believe her when Susan assured them that she was quite alright-more shaken than anything. Lucy did not buy it anymore than they did but the cordial would heal the physical wounds of the unnatural attack.

Lucy must have been standing at the door for a length of time (though it did not seem so) for Susan called to her sister, wondering if she was quite alright. And Cyriacus ushered the young queen to the dieing woman's bedside, telling her that there wasn't any moments to spare.

Lucy could feel the glances of her brothers and sister upon her as she plodded with the grace of a giant to Waylon's side. When the Elderly Gentleman spoke to the other three, his voice sounded so distant. "She was thrown, High King. I came to update you on the meerkat-chick situation and I saw young Queen Lucy get tossed across the room as if she were not but a rag doll. She seemed a wee bit shakey, my lord. Hit her head fairly hard, I'm supposing."

As the conversation between the old cat and the others continued, Lucy's hand found Waylon's as she took a quick moment to comfort the now broken man. He lightly returned her squeezed and looked down on the thirteen year old. The drinks he had consumed gave his mourning gray eyes a glassy hue to them and his face seemed so much older than his nineteen or so years.

Wordlessly the Valiant bent down to rouse the woman who seemed to have passed out after the spirit had left her body no doubt tattered. Lucy's small hand gently shook Dores' shoulder and she called out the woman's name. Time stopped as did the quiet exchange the elder Pevensies had with E.G. and the very voice from Lucy's throat sounded drawn out for an eternity. The only noise in the sick chamber was that of Waylon's pleadings of "Oh, no. By the Lion, no!" Lucy's eyes met the regretful ones of the court surgeon who-moving as if laden by a heavy load- quietly took out a small silver mirror and held it to Dores' mouth and nose.

When no breath came to fog the glass up, the surgeon looked up regret and Waylon let out a strangled cry as he held fast to his wife's lifeless hand. Wordlessly, Cyriacus took a blanket from the foot of the bed and covered the mirror in the room, and then muttered the old blessing for the wandering soul of his former patient.

Lucy numbly made her way to her siblings, her head pounding to a near roar. She buried her head into Peter's chest, letting silent tears moisten the fabric of his tunic. Susan's hand had (as expected) gently touched her sister's shoulder to comfort as tears spilled down her cheeks for her friend. Edmund, with his head bowed, stood slightly apart from the other three, his forefinger and thumb resting against his nose. Too much blood was on his hands because of his silence…far too much.

"I wasn't swift enough!" Lucy sobbed, internally willing the pressure in her head and the dizziness to release her. She faintly heard Susan's condolence, calling her 'dear one' and telling her that it wasn't her fault that Dores did not make it.

"You had no hand in the lives that were lost tonight, Lu." Edmund quietly told his sister, causing the girl to look up at him and Waylon to stand up.

"Indeed, my lord?" Waylon challenged, his steps staggered by drink and his gray eyes wild with the madness grief brought. "Had your sister not run faster, perhaps there I would be holding my wife and not her corpse."

" 'Twas not Queen Lucy's liability. There are none to blame for death except the one who called her." Oreius spoke up. He did not like the desperate look in the young widower's eyes. Many a man tried desperate things with that look and Oreius was not going to allot any harm to their Majesties.

"Those are pretty words, General," Waylon spat angrily, kicking the chair he sat at during his long vigil across the room with such force it splintered in two against the stonewall. His eyes darted around like a wild animal's looking for an escape. Swiftly Waylon exited the room and began down the hall with such haste it seemed unnatural. The kings and queens exchanged glances, worried as to what Waylon was going to do in his grief. Wordlessly Susan and Edmund followed in his wake, leaving Peter to console Lucy.

In order to keep up with Waylon's pace, brother and sister found that they had to run. He led them through twisting corridors and passages until they found themselves on the top of the battlements. The assembled crowd in the courtyard ceased from arguing about the best way to bring about such a large search as the familiar silhouettes of their Just King and Gentle Queen appeared against the night sky.

Waylon halted on the very edge of the battlements. The wind earlier that night had advanced in ferocity so that their hair smacked against their faces like whips. Thunder pealed through the courtyard, heralding the storm. A bolt of lightning illuminated Waylon's face and reflected off of the steel of his dagger. His eyes were not his own as he held the weapon to his neck.

"Waylon," The Gentle pleaded, sounding as helpless as she felt. Her voice shook with unshed tears for her dear friends. She took a step forward to comfort her friend and was answered with a sharp intake of breath and the flash of the knife being held closer to his jugular vein. "Waylon, please."

"See reason, man! You're acting rash."

In the darkness, Waylon let out a cold, heartless laugh as he stepped up on the edge. The cackle echoed through out the courtyard, causing the blood in every Narnian vein chill. "You should have left well enough alone, King Edmund." What ever was speaking through Waylon announced. With a pang, Edmund recalled his harsh words of a challenge he had issued, and the bone chilling accepting of it.

"Don't do this Waylon." Susan pleaded when her brother's voice some how seemed to fail him. How she wanted Waylon to laugh light heartedly, call her Gentle Susan and assure her that all would be fine. But as his soulless gray eyes fell upon her, he gave a hideous grin.

"Queen Susan the Gentle, you'll be joining us in the abyss for all eternity." He announced and slit his throat. Blood from his main vein gushed like a fountain, painting the two monarchs red with the blood of their own country man. Waylon's limp body wobbled precariously on the parapet, his sightless eyes open and fixed on the two. Then before either Edmund or Susan could grab him, the corpse fell backwards into the panicking crowd who had observed it all with a terror that had crested into a wave of fright.

* * *

**A/N: Here it is! An update! Finally taken (and translated) from the jumble of a notebook from camp! Chap 13 is in the works and call me butter I'm on a roll. Halloween '08 or bust!**


	13. Uncorking the bottle of secrets

The Just's hand encircled Susan's uninjured forearm as she made an attempt to keep the teetering Waylon from toppling over the battlements. She writhed like a jittery child to get out of his grip as the blood of their countryman sprayed their fine clothes, hair and tired faces. Waylon made a slight gurgling sound that was not unfamiliar to the young king. In battle, he had slit enough throats to know that death would come on the poor man in a few moments. Though Edmund was no stranger to witnessing a man's agonizing last breaths, the wide eyed look in Waylon's eyes burned into the king. They were wide, surprised as if just waking, fearful and most strikingly confused. Almost as if he had awoken to find his knife sliding across his throat.

To keep his sister from going over the parapet with the wobbling body, Edmund embraced his squirming sister. With in a moment, Susan folded into her brother, her body wracked with sobs as her mentor and friend tipped over the edge and plummeted into the courtyard. Lightning flashed in the sky, lighting for a brief moment the look of fear among the fearful Narnians assembled.

Uncle Fungus' voice was carried by the wind and above the panicked shrieks of the mothers. They would snuff out like candles, he claimed, if they stayed a moment longer. He urged the crowd to forget the young ones and save their own skins before they met the same fate Waylon had.

"My Lieges!" A faun sentry cried from the other side of the parapet as he made haste to the monarchs. The hubbub of the night had left the castle defenses understaffed and the seasoned faun who had been in the Pevensie's services since Beruna had found himself responsible for thrice his stretch. He had no clue what had transpired to make the courtier, Waylon jump from the parapets, though something-be it the wind, the oncoming storm or the castle-something made the hairs on his back stand on end.

The sentry's eyebrows disappeared beneath his helmet at the appearances of King Edmund and Queen Susan. When his glance met the king's, Edmund nodded over Queen Susan's head to the edge of the parapet and upon looking down, the sentry saw the crumpled and bloody corpse of the man who was brilliant with foreign relations. "May the Lion preserve us," The sentry mumbled, kissing his pointing finger's knuckle then placing it to his forehead. Then he turned to the two. "My Lady, you're injured." He pointed out in concern and stepped forward to the pair.

"From earlier." Edmund explained, knowing that it did little to reassure him or the faun. "The rest of the mess is not ours. We're unharmed."

The sentry cocked an eyebrow and decided to speak his mind, "Things have gone to the abyss and back, sire, and I'm not afraid to say it. First with the unseemly accident at the ball and then the disappearances. We heard screams and the half of the guard that wasn't on alert by the disappearances rushed to find you're royal brother."

Edmund nodded, feeling as if he had been in the castle for months rather than on his second night. Indeed, all hell broke loose after Dores was attacked. "Everything is under as much control as could be allotted, worry not." He hoped, though doubted that the sentry would buy his false reassurances for fauns were always perceptive beings.

"And the lady?" The sentry wondered quietly, "Will she recover?"

The Gentle lifted her head and gave a hard stare at the faun. Her voice was like steel when she spoke. "No. She died."

With out another word, Susan let go of her brother and stepped towards the threshold to the stairs. "Su," The Just called out, getting her to stop in her tracks in reply. "Where are you going?"

The Gentle seemed to be trying her hardest to regain and keep some sort of composure but her entire body was shaking with the effort. She drew a shaky breath and explained in hurried yet absent tones, "Waylon…his body needs to be covered and blessed and….somebody needs to shut that old fool up before we have mass panic." She stood in silence, challenging Edmund and the sentry to contradict her, which they did not.

The sentry's muscles twinged with fear, under his queen's gaze. There was something wrong, though he could not place it yet somehow it seemed that the source of his uneasy feelings stemmed from the Gentle.

"Waylon needs to be taken care of," Edmund began cautiously. Susan's temper had flared quite a bit lately for the smallest infractions. The last thing he needed was being berated before a guard. "As does your arm." He turned to the sentry guard, "Take Queen Susan to Queen Lucy to look after the arm, I'll take care of Fungus Bristlesplat and the body."

The faun moved and placed a hand on Susan's back to usher her off the ramparts but not before he noted the chill from her skin-almost like of one dead, he thought. The Queen stood in her place and gave her brother a hard stare.

"Are you sure you can accomplish this?" Susan asked flatly, hinting of his unsuccessful track record as of late. The simple inquiry almost mocked Edmund's decision to hold his tongue about the séance earlier. He knew that it was the séance that was the catalyst that started it all, and that his silence only helped it along. Moments ago his pitiful puffs of 'be reasonable, man' did nothing to hinder Waylon either. And somehow, though he was certain there was no living being in the room, it almost seemed as if Susan knew of his challenge to the ghost. How it was possible he had no clue, but her flat statement told all.

Drawing a breath the fifteen year old answered with what he hoped sounded like confidence. "The last thing the Narnians here need before they fall into mass panic is the sight of one of their queens looking like she fought her way through a stampeding herd of …well, take your pick. No, you go and get that arm fixed." Edmund did not wait for a rebuttal but turned on his heels and descended the stairs that would lead him to the courtyard.

The sentry quietly urged his queen to come with him out of the cold and wind. As he led her to the threshold, Susan turned to watch Edmund disappear. The wind whipped her loose hair across her face and the sentry was not sure if it was the queen or the wind when he heard a low guttural grown before they left the parapet.

XXXXX

By the time Edmund made his way to the courtyard with a few guards he found along the way, only a few members of the crowd were opposing Fungus Bristlesplat. Sir Gallus' feathers were puffed indignantly as he spoke over his wife's sobs and Avril's desperate chirpings. Edmund bent down to Waylon's corpse and closed the sightless gray eyes that still held the confusion of life's last breath. As the Just continued to take care of the corpse, he could not help but hear the debate that was taking place.

"How can you say such things, Fungus Bristlesplat?! You speak treachery to your clan, proposing to leave the young ones to fate just to save your hide." Gallus challenged. His usual unimpressed tone was laced with contempt and rage. Gallus' son was one of those missing and he would not leave his boy to an uncertain fate.

Vitus stepped forward in an attempt to echo the rooster's sentiments before Sir Gallus called out the meerkat. "I've never met a Narnian so willing to put his own safety above those who have more of life to live. Even a Calmorene would lay his life in danger for his heirs. The little ones are of your blood whether you admit it or not!" Vitus' voice was harsh and at his words a murmur of agreement began to bubble up. For who better to give truthful impressions of themselves than a foreigner?

The old meerkat looked past Vitus for he was a foreigner and knew nothing of the hearts of Narnians. Fungus met Sir Gallus Gallewe's gaze and challenge when he spoke, it was partially to the crowd and partially to Gallus. "You are a cock of the Kings' ranks, Sir Gallus, are you not? So tell me, if our Noble Kings led you into a battle and by chance your unit was cut off from the rest of the army. And High King Peter and King Edmund could emerge victorious with lesser losses if you perished standing your ground and fought rather than care for you and your own. Would you flee, Sir Gallewe?" He did not wait for a response from the rooster and continued. "Nay. Some times the needs of many outnumber the needs of the few. And tis better to leave young ones to fate than to for the entire castle to meet a hellish end!"

The murmuring crowd agreed in quiet voices while precious few rebutted their neighbor. At the old meerkat's words, Avril ceased her desperate calls and stiffly approached her uncle. Those in the front of the crowd silenced to hear what the scout would say. Avril's voice came strained and iced. She spat at the Fungus' feet. "You bastard." Her hoarse statement echoed like a slap, "The light of the Lion has left you and I no longer will call you 'uncle'."

Fungus looked at his niece for a moment and silent agreement of estrangement was met. Turning back to the crowd Fungus continued while Sabine led Avril back to the huddled, frightened family that needed her guidance. "The time for debate has passed." Fungus announced. "I'm getting myself back to the Cair and out of the Marshlands as fast as my feet can ca-"

"Fungus!" Edmund bellowed across the courtyard, making his way to the throng. The crowd parted for their Sire in silent reverence and acute fear for they had never enjoyed seeing the precious few times their Liege was so vexed. "Hold thy tongue, you fool or I'll make sure it is!" Edmund knew that the majority of the potency of his rage was from holding back his anger for far too many hours. He made his way to the front of the crowd, silently keeping his rage checked at a small roar.

"Sire," Fungus lobbied against his better judgment. "This place is evil! We must take refuge back at the Cair."

"And cause mass panic in the process? Fool." Edmund growled so that only Vitus, Gallus and Fungus could hear. The Just regarded the old Narnian for a moment and the blackened sky let loose its warning. Fat raindrops hit the shoulders of those assembled as King Edmund turned to address the crowd.

"I will not begin to deny that there is something unearthly in this place." He began carefully. "The unfortunate deaths tonight of one of Narnia's finest young families and the disappearances of the Bristleslpat pups and Gallewe chick only accentuate that fact. I would not keep anyone here that dreams of safer grounds. But I urge you to see reason. Tis the middle of the night in the Marshlands. A fierce storm is brewing over head. We all know well how quickly mud accumulates in this area and how deep it is. Should a leg be broken by a sink hole, help most likely will come too late. You'll have no idea which way is to safety and which way will lead to the middle of the marsh. It would be folly to go out tonight and neither I nor my royal siblings will sanction it.

As for the children, I ask those who are eager to leave, what if the tables were turned and your own were missing. Would you leave others to search for your own kin?" Edmund paused, allowing the thought to sink in before he continued. "So, hear me out my fellow Narnians. Stay here until the storm passes and your travels look less perilous. Help us search for the missing and come the morn, I will not withhold any who wish to go. Though I can not speak for my royal siblings and if we will follow suit."

The crowd buzzed, discussing what was transpiring. Yes, that was the body of Waylon being covered up yonder. His lady and child must have been dead for Waylon would have never killed himself otherwise and King Edmund did mention the loss of a fine Narnian family. Leave tonight? With this weather? Fungus was an old coot anyway, but he did have a point. This place boded no good will. Yet did they have a choice in the matter? King Edmund refused to allow anyone beyond the gates for fear they would meet just as an untimely end if they stayed near this evil. And it _was_ the Gallewe chick and Bristlesplat pups missing. How could they not help, evil or no?

Slowly husbands kissed their wives and children goodnight and gathered at the end of the courtyard, passing the covered body on their way and attempting to step around the blood stained hand that protruded from the makeshift shroud. Able bodied Narnians, followed suit leaving a deflated and frightened crowd of mothers, their children and Fungus Bristlesplat in the center of the courtyard. In the driving rain, the mothers held their babies close with fear carefully hidden on their countenances. And Fungus stood alone on the raised entrance to the family den, his bottom lip was tucked over his upper in cold defiance. He cared not if he was no longer welcome in the family nor did he care that King Edmund decreed that no one would leave the walls until it was safe to travel. The old meerkat was able to live years alone before he met his Blueberry. He could fend for himself in a mere swamp.

XXXXX

As every able bodied Narnian, including the Magnificent and Just scoured the castle in groups of three, the Gentle gingerly stood up from her seat and tenderly placed the Valiant's head on the chaise lounge, intent on stoking the fire.

She was escorted like a sleepwalker back to Dores' death chamber by the faun who seemed eager to get out of her presence. Already the servants who were oblivious to the panic outside, had begun to cover every mirror in the palace. It was a Narnian tradition to do so after a death so that the soul was not trapped and could go to its reward. Susan felt nothing but numbness now, not even tears could have been shed if her life depended on it. Shock had acted like a smothering blanket for her; she felt neither the pain from her injury or from her sorrow.

Lucy had fixed the broken arm with no protests from her sister. But it was obvious that the injury the Valiant had suffered while trying to get the cordial was more serious than previously thought. Angry welts looking like slender fingers had appeared on the girl's throat. And Lucy had acted queerly, forgetting things said moments before and loosing her balance despite the flat floor. It was due to the head injury, Cyriacus informed the two older siblings as their brows knitted in worry. But she would recover swiftly from it as long as she was woken every once and awhile that night and made sure her senses were about her.

By that time, Edmund had spoken to and calmed the crowd and sent a messenger through out the castle asking for volunteers to add to the search party. Cyriacus had helped Susan and Peter set Lucy up in a cozy sitting room near the front of the castle where it was warmer when the messenger found them. The High King was hovering by his sisters like a mother hen, torn between staying near to protect his sisters and protecting his subjects. Yet Susan had assured him that she had all under control. And so Susan sat with Lucy until the child had fallen asleep. As instructed, Susan roused Lucy every once and awhile and made sure the Valiant's wits were about her.

In between waking Lucy, Susan was left alone with her confused mind as a companion. She did not feel herself and was unsure if it was due to the ordeal she had underwent or if it was something else. It did not escape her notice that she sat in the same room that she and Dores had that afternoon and contacted the spirit.

Edmund's remorse and agony was plain on his face, it was not in his character to stand idly by when he saw something that was not right-at least not after he had escaped the White Witch. He knew that contacting the dead was a risky-some even would argue forbidden-act. And yet his senses of good and evil- of which he was renowned- failed him. And the blood that was spilled tonight-even those of the missing children- were directly because of his silence and hence they were on his hands. Susan did all in her power to manipulate her brother into silence for motives that she hardly could know herself. And yet she felt no remorse for her deeds-didn't even feel anything about the evening. Not the snapping, nor the deaths of her friends nor even how she used her myriad of charms on every male at the ball, making them long for her despite their genus.

Shaking her head, Susan threw a log onto the fire and it accepted it hungrily and almost instantaneously. 'By the Lion!' She thought to herself with an outward cringe at the thought of her emptiness, 'What has come over me?' She recalled how in moments-for that was what they were- she felt almost out of her body. And with a slow intake of breath, she recalled how she ran her hand caressingly up the arm of Vitus-a man who she was most certainly not wild about.

'No,' Susan thought turning from the fire to look around the room. The shimmer of the ornate mirror caught her eye. It had seemed in the excitement of the search party the maids forgot to cover the mirror. It was silly to think that she had done all of those things unwillingly. Logic was her mainstay and it was illogical to think that she had no power over her body. Yet she recalled earlier that morning at breakfast…she was unsure what she had said to Peter but it was so uncharacteristically harsh that he was taken aback. Peter was never taken aback by anything she had ever said and gave her vexed look when she had honestly admitted that she was confused as to what she had said.

Sighing, she raked her disheveled hair back from her face. The delicate, golden daffodils on her crown snared her hair, much to the apathy of Susan. She began to walk forward to the chaise, intent on waking Lucy but a dark shimmer in the mirror caught her eye and for the first time since she had donned her gown that night, Susan glimpsed her appearance. Her long dark hair had gone as wild as the vines on the South wing of the Cair. Strands had been caught up in her crown and the rest fell about wildly as if not knowing where to go. Dark and tired rings hung underneath her eyes like those of an old blood hound's and the green in her eyes appeared dulled and suppressed. Her face was so ashen and pale that her freckles-which thanks to the bleaching effects of buttermilk last winter had all but faded-glared so much it seemed that the queen's countenance was nothing but freckles. She did look like hell.

She was stressed just as her siblings and lacking sleep as well. So logically, it was natural to be a bit paranoid, was it not? Susan gave her reflection a curt nod in deciding that she was not out of her mind, just tired. Although part of her was loath to accept the excuse. Turning from the mirror, the Gentle approached the chaise where her sister was resting across from the mirror. Careful to walk behind Lucy for the child startled when waking up to a face at her face, Susan looked down at Lucy.

The finger marks on the Eastern Sea's throat was unsettling and the youngest queen looked every bit as disheveled as her older sister. Lucy was always an active sleeper and in her tossing and turning her red locks had fallen across her contorted face. The Valiant was not having a restful sleep, it was certain.

Queen Susan's mouth formed a worried line, as was custom as of late. Her own mental and physical state was tolerable but she could not bear to see any unhappiness in her siblings. How distant and unreal the safety of Cair Paravel seemed. Her canopied bed with a mattress so soft that it embraced who ever laid in it felt like a distant memory. Thinking back, Susan found that she could not recall the scent or lay out of the rose gardens nor the Great Hall nor the favored sitting room she and Lucy had spent so many rainy afternoons. All she could remember was this castle, as if she had always been there. Despite her loathing of the place, she felt as if part of her was imbedded in the very walls. It was an unsettling thought for the part of her that felt connected to the place felt that this tomb…this place made for death and despair…was her home.

Susan shook the thought from her head as she reached down to guide a flaming strand of her sister's hair from her face. Lucy's face contorted in some unknown dream at her sister's touch but did not wake. Susan did not know what compelled her but as she softly raked another rouge strand out of her sister's face, she looked up into the mirror.

A horrified yelp escaped her lips. The sight was ghastly. Susan's reflection held a face that was contorted beyond anything worldly. And her hands closed around her sister's throat in a silent vice. Lucy's reflection roused at the pressure and tried futilely to escape her sister's grip. Susan's eyes darted to the sleeping form of her baby sister, who slept soundly on the chaise. The youngest Queen's reflection struggled and the ghastly scene continued as Susan stepped away from the lounge. Tears streamed down the Gentle's face as she let out a scream.

With in moments, Vitus rushed in, his sword poised to battle what ever threatened the queens and his best friend's sisters. He took in the scene, Lucy sleeping soundly on the lounge and Susan seemingly sobbing over something unknown. Surely there was no danger in the room, just upset and drained queens. As if it were to soothe the women in the room, Vitus softly sheathed his sword.

"What happened?" He inquired, stepping towards the Gentle. At length she looked up at him, tears swimming in her eyes. They were worn, scared, hopeless eyes and seemed to belong to an older woman than the eldest queen's newly sixteen years. Her back straightened as she saw the griot, her chin jutted and an attempted haughty face asked silently why Vitus wasn't one of her brothers. Vitus heaved a sigh, taking a tentative step forward. "Peter was concerned that he would be unable to reach you or your sister in time should something happen and so bid me to take vigil near the room." He paused, the question of if she and Lucy were alright hung in the air although it was not said.

The Gentle drew herself to her full height in attempt to salvage her pride. The fact that Vitus came to her aid flustered her. A hasty hand wiped the tears from her cheeks as she stalked past the political prisoner with her sister's name on her lips.

"How is she?" Vitus wondered, exasperated that he was not getting a straight answer. He grudgingly realized that his inquiry sounded more of a demand than a question but to him the small queen was just as dear to him as a sister.

At his statement, Susan turned to face him. "We are fine, Vitus, truly."

"You screamed, my lady. That hardly constitutes as 'fine, truly'." Vitus retorted, grabbing the queen's arm and staying her. Her expression gave away her lie despite her attempt to cover it.

"Lucy was thrown when she was retrieving her cordial…and was choked." She admitted, unsure if word had gotten to Vitus. "I don't know what would have happened if E.G. didn't come when he did. Cyriacus prescribed rest with someone to wake her at times, to be sure her wits are still about her."

"Your brother informed me of that, my queen. That still doesn't resolve why you screamed."

"I just thought I saw something in the mirror." Susan caved, not giving the entire story. "I was startled, that's all. Hardly a motive for you to run in here, sword raised." She turned to the chaise Lucy slept on, catching a glance of the mirror out of the corner of her eye. The same woman Susan and Edmund had seen earlier that day stood in Susan's place on the other side of the mirror. Her face, void of any orifices looked calmly back. The mouth covered by her skin turned upward in an ill grin and a blue sleeved arm reached for the Southern Sun.

Queen Susan let out a yelp and jumped back from the chaise as if it were on fire. Vitus was by her side and his hand on her shoulder turned her around to face him. "What did you see?" he asked. The eldest queen had been on edge ever since he barged in. He had seen Peter's sister in all forms of emotions yet this uncharacteristic jumpiness was an unsettling matter and Pete did not need to have more on his plate to worry about.

Susan cupped her head in shaking hands as she all but flopped into a nearby chair. Her body soon began to shake in time with her hands and a sob escaped her lips. Not knowing what exactly to do, Vitus knelt down beside her and sat in silence until she spoke in a ragged and hoarse voice. "By the Lion! I'm loosing my mind!"

Anticipating Vitus to voice his reassurance that she wasn't-even if that wasn't his opinion- she continued. "No, I have become most certain that I am. I've seen…things this night. One-naught but a moment ago! A woman! The same woman Edmund and I saw this afternoon. Dores saw her too and look what has happened to her! And I'm certain that I am next only Dores met her end by the stairs. I'll loose my sanity _then_ my life."

"You saw a woman?" Vitus questioned, his brow furrowed. The queen's sudden out pour of emotions was baffling. They had been cordial and on the odd occasion there might have been something else there but hardly had she spilled emotions to him. And the content was most confusing in and of itself.

"In the mirror. But she was hardly a human woman. Her face looked as if a canvas of her own skin was pulled over it. She had dark hair…" Absentmindedly she ran her hand through her own hair as she mentioned the lady's hair. "And her feet were pointed backwards. Edmund, Dores and myself saw her in the mirror this afternoon and I saw her moments ago in the mirror. I…I think it was-is Madame Lihi." Despite the surprised look in his sharp hazel eyes, the queen continued both doggedly and aimlessly. "I was loath to tell Peter about what transpired and still am but…It's so odd, Vitus…" Her words died off as her train of thought did and the two sat in silence for a moment or two.

At length, the lad questioned tentatively, "You have spoken to the ghost? Madame Lihi? How do you know tis her?"

Susan lifted her head to look at the political prisoner who-as usual- appeared to be taking in the very last detail of the conversation. Her hands dropped numbly onto her lap and her fingers limply grazed his hand resting on her knee. "And if I have?" She shot back defensively, "Would you run to the High King like my little brother intended to? Would you listen, nodding unbelievingly at my tale? Or perhaps would you take my hand and listen intently to my every word? Aye, I spoke to the ghost as did Dores. And Edmund condemns me for it as much as he condemns his silence." The queen paused and looked ahead into space for several moments as Vitus' confusion and concern increased.

"I'm going crazy, Vitus." She informed the griot calmly, "I know I am. At times I feel…not myself- But Dores…and Waylon…do you suppose they joined the spectral legion in this castle?"

She continued, speaking of things that were loosely tied together in her mind, giving no cause to clarify them. Vitus wondered briefly if he should call Cyriacus for Queen Susan was most certainly suffering from some sort of shock. Yet could the medical doctor really help, the lad questioned himself. He knew from his brief conversations with Peter that Lucy was the only one to receive a decent night's sleep the night before. Perhaps it was merely a good night's sleep that was needed. Either way, Pete should be notified regardless. There was something about the queen's behavior that concerned him though he could not put a finger on it. "Queen Susan," Vitus spoke up at length, "shall I fetch one of your brothers?"

"No!" came the hasty reply and then a pale hand reached for Vitus' face, caressing his jaw line, then running its way through his hair. At any other time such a touch from such a beautiful young woman would weaken his resolve to do anything. Yet neither Susan's touch nor voice was not her own and chills ran down Vitus' spine. "We needn't bother them with such trifles as a spooked sister. No…we will find more…practical uses for you, shall we not, love?"

Vitus frowned and stood up, escaping her caresses. "Queen Susan, you are not yourself." His voice was stern and matter-of-factly as if the statement itself would bring reason to her.

She stood up with a belittling laugh and regarded him from behind dark lashes with eyes that held no warmth of humanity. Susan moved forward to Vitus, her hips swinging seductively and her lips forming an amused smirk on her face. "How perceptive you are, Master Griot." She cooed in the deeper voice of a woman nearing the end of her prime.

She backed Vitus into a corner and pressed her body against his. "Who are you to take over the Queen's body?" He demanded in short breaths for the nearness of her body and the path of her hands both terrified and excited him against his will. His body went ramrod straight in uneasiness as he drew himself to his fullest height.

Whatever held Susan's body tutted as her hand caressed Vitus' neck then chest. "Shame, shame, Griot. You ought to know your history. Shall I tell you?" She pressed her face near his ear. Her breath was hot on his cheek and her answer made his very blood chill. "I hear all that the moon sees…"

XXXXX

Edmund, Oreius and several other guards made their way through the darkened great hall, their feet and hooves echoing off of the walls and pillars. Outside, the storm howled like a child in a tantrum, unwilling to give up the people in the palace-its play things. The garlands of autumn flowers and lanterns still hung in quiet vigil over the hall but the darkness seemed to take the beauty of them, twisting the once beautiful hall into a bleak, echoing room.

"Sarah, Salvatrice Bristlesplat!" A guard called out as he and his comrade fanned out to search the deep corners of the hall.

Holding the torch in one hand and the hilt of his sword in the other, Edmund took a moment to glance at his mentor. Oreius' face was drawn in a set grim line that would not have moved for even Aslan himself. The centaur's body was so stiff and tense that the fifteen year old king could see individual muscles spasm on Oreius' flanks. The general who had never been one for words spoke less than ever before.

"Ove! Ove Galewe! Can you hear us?" One of the guards called. When no answer came, Oreius' drawn mouth drew a tighter and straighter line.

"Much is on your mind, Oreius." Edmund observed quietly.

"Aye, more than you know, King Edmund." The centaur replied stiffly and quietly. "More than you know. Much is on your mind as well, Sire, and I wager that it is more than I know as well."

"I fear that I have blood on my hands due my selfishness." The young king admitted quietly, his head bowed and his eyes locked on the floor. In his deepest distresses, Edmund always went to the general for council more than any other. Perhaps it was the bond forged between those who fought back from the brinks of death or maybe twas because in the training lists Oreius pushed Edmund beyond all physical, mental and emotional limits. Either way, the king could not help the stream that came from his mouth.

He quietly explained to Oreius everything. How he saw Susan performing the séance, how she had bribed him into silence with his hate of dancing, his challenge to the ghost that led-he was certain-to Lucy's attack and Waylon's death and how despite the deaths that were his fault, he still kept a silent tongue from Peter.

The general regarded his king for a moment, noting that any course of action involving the dead ended up worse than one expected. There was fault in King Edmund's actions but what could have happened if he told the High King? The Just's conscience would have been clear but would a clear conscience have saved Dores from the wrath of a disturbed spirit? Certainly not.

At length, Oreius spoke his thoughts to the king. "You entered the room as the séance was going on," Oreius pointed out in his quiet flat tone Edmund recognized as an equivalent to consoling. The centaur kept his voice low as the two guards searched the hall, oblivious to the conversation. "You could not have stopped it from happening. Your Royal Sister has a mind as unyielding as the Cair's battlements, as you know."

The centaur paused once more to let his point sink in, hoping that the king would allow himself to be forgiven. The lad had a habit of being as stubborn in his remorse and guilt as Queen Susan was stubborn by will. It was a trait that both mentor and king knew must be overcome if he were to be truly just. For how potent of a judge could anyone be if they were being just and fair with others but not to themself.

"Truly," the centaur pressed, "Would telling your brother have prevented Dores' death? The spirits here are vengeful. This castle, I fear, is like a wolverine. It has bitten down on us and we shan't escape from it. Not now."

Edmund listened silently, feeling wholly better and worse that his sins were verbalized. When they stood in silence for some time, Oreius shifted his weight.

"King Edmund," Oreius began again with a softer tone. The centaur's body carriage shifted and all of a sudden, Edmund found himself not talking to the general, teacher or consult but to plain Oreius. "Shortly before the Hundred Year Winter, I had a family; a wife, two fillies and a colt.

The day I became entangled with this cursed castle had been a day of great feasting for the arriving Spring. We all had danced and caroused until the sun had set. If you can believe it, King Edmund, I was carefree that long time ago." Oreius paused and his mouth twitched in a suppressed a harsh chuckle to himself. "As we returned to our home accompanied by a fox and his kit, my two youngest and the kit hummed a tune. But we thought naught of it for the story of Madame Lihi spiriting away children whose tunes were on the wind was nothing more than a tale. We bade the fox and his son good-bye, not thinking of the danger our children were in. But as we slept, Lihi came and took them, by the time I got to where they slept Ebele and Baldo were gone. The fox and I had taken no rest until our search brought me to this castle…but I was far too late. We found naught of the children except entrails." The centaur paused and breathed a slow breath as if it would give him the ability to continue.

"As the fox and I turned to leave, Lihi appeared. I escaped with my life but my companion was overcome and as I fled I could hear his dieing cries as Lihi skinned his very face. Now that fox is bound to this castle, forever looking for his son."

"Your companion was the fox Lucy had seen." Edmund summed up quietly, his condolences for Oreius' pain following silently.

"Aye. I knew the moment I heard."

"Why, then, did you not say anything?"

The centaur shook his head in remorse. "I was a father once, Sire. And I know you feel something akin to your people and your royal siblings as I have had to my children. Had I voiced my concerns, perhaps they would have been heard. But what kind of father would I be if I didn't try to free Ebele and Baldo's souls from this wretched place?"

Edmund swallowed hard, taking in all that the centaur confessed. "Do you believe that their blood can be washed from your hands?"

The centaur's response was delayed by one of the guards who had approached them. "We've found nothing, M'lord, General." He informed the two. In the dim light the guard's straight lined mouth cast a deep shadow but Edmund had immediately recognized him as the guard on the parapet. Telling the group that they will continue on if there were no signs of the youngsters, the group pressed on and soon Edmund found himself with Oreius, purposely far enough away from the others to continue the conversation.

"If I live, there will still be stains on my hands." The centaur returned grimly.

"What do you mean 'if you live'?" The king wondered.

"As I said before, King Edmund, the castle is reluctant to see us leave and I fear we have lost our chance. Be it by our wills or the castle's, I shall see my children again."

**A/N: A decent place to stop, I think. Once again the chap was intended to be twice the size but this story has a mind of its own! I must say I am in love with this chapter. Especially the Susan-Vitus scene. Anyway, I'd like to thank all who review and read this and I commend everyone for their patience. Hopefully chap 14 won't be up long after.**


	14. None to listen, save the dead

"Susan?" The single word had seemed to break what ever held the queen. Vitus looked over Susan's slender shoulder to see Queen Lucy sitting up on the chaise lounge that she was previously sleeping on. The girl held a confused, scared expression and her eyes wondered non-verbally why Susan had Vitus pinned against the wall.

When Lucy spoke, her sister's body carriage changed as her fingers grasped at Vitus' tunic for support. What ever was pressing its advances on the griot via the Gentle's body had left (though Vitus feared not for good) in a quick, dazed breath. Vitus put a steadying hand on her arm, worried that the Southern Sun would faint and he would have to explain the situation- and what had transpired before Lucy woke up- to Peter who would be, no doubt, fit to kill upon hearing.

Susan blinked as if to clear racing thoughts and turning to her sister, answered. "Lucy," She walked swiftly to her sister and reached out to secure a stray strand behind the Valiant's ear before sitting on the chaise next to her. "I was about to wake you, Dear One."

As the sister's embraced-for Lucy had had quite a nightmare- Vitus hung back where he stood. He knew not how much the Valiant had seen of what had transpired yet prayed that she did not see a single thing. The situation was delicate enough as it was with out a third living party. He knew with out a doubt that the spirit in the castle that undoubtedly caused the three deaths and several disappearances held the Gentle's body captive. Yet how was he to give and back up such outlandish claims. Surely he would have to account as to why he knew this and seeing that he barely believed that Queen Susan came onto him, it was likely that neither would her brothers. Vitus was certain that his diplomatic immunity, which saw him safely out of many situations, would not hold.

Queen Lucy's voice brought Vitus back to the situation at hand as she answered Susan's questions of who she was. "…I like my tea with lemon and sugar. Su…" the young queen's eyes flitted to where Vitus stood for a quick moment. "What exactly is Vitus doing here?"

The elder looked puzzled, forcing Vitus to wonder if she remembered anything from when the spirit over took her. "What are you doing here, Vitus?" Susan wondered genuinely.

The lad stepped forward, explaining with much difficulty that the High King commissioned Vitus to be his eyes and ears incase the Queens needed anything. It seemed that what ever he said seemed to allude to what had just transpired. "Your sister is too reluctant to admit that she got spooked and screamed a little, bringing me into the room to investigate, Queen Lucy." He made his way to the queens, with the tone he usually adopted when he spoke to Lucy.

The Valiant looked at her sister with a confused countenance. "What did you see, Su?"

"Nothing to worry about, Dearheart." Susan assured Lucy in a hurried voice she employed when she was bested in logic or trying to cover up a falsehood. Vitus took great length to hide his sigh of relief. Lucy had not seen Susan's display and the griot was positive that the Gentle had no clue what had transpired. She hardly recalled why he entered the room.

For him though, what had transpired could not be forgotten, that was certain whether or not he was the only one with such a memory. Madame Lihi had control of the Queen and that simple fact led to questions that needed to be answered. Was Lihi the driving force of what was transpiring at the castle? From what Vitus had read about the legend, Lihi only took children who whistled or hummed at night. How could that account for the death of Dores and her husband?

Vitus had heard from the accounts that Waylon was not himself prior to his death. Could _he_ have been possessed at his death? And if so, what did that mean for Susan?

His musings had produced an uneasy silence between the three and at once, Vitus could tell that both sisters were as scared as he was uncomfortable. He leaned forward to Lucy and, keeping his voice as smooth as he could, offered to tell her the story of King Frank VI and his exploits at sea to calm all of their nerves. Lucy had eagerly agreed to listen, not wanting to sleep again so soon and Susan leaned back in the chaise as if ready to listen.

As he spoke, his mind reeled. He needed answers, plain and simple. Unfortunately he knew that if he found them alone and acted alone, it would be hell to pay from Peter and Edmund. The kings needed to be filled in about Susan and Vitus hated to be the one to tell them. But for once he was glad that his master had made him commit such stories to memory for the story spilled from Vitus' lips like a breath, just like he was trained to do. The rhythm of the story changed his tone, hiding his fear and awkwardness.

As his voice filled the room, steady and strong and cloaking his true emotions, the nervous lines on Lucy's face eased. Susan allowed her sister's head to droop onto her shoulder before gathering her up in her arms. The griot's words were like a balm to the Valiant and long before the end, she fell asleep in Susan's arms.

When Vitus noticed the Valiant's breaths were deep and slow, he knew she had truly fallen asleep and paused.

"You're not going to continue?" Susan wondered after a long silence. She looked at him with wide pleading eyes and was met with a raised eyebrow from the griot. She was never as enchanted on his stories as Lucy and Peter were. "It would keep us from thinking about everything. What I saw and the deaths…"

She sounded sheepish and Vitus almost let out a strained laughed. It was a rare day when Susan Pevensie was sheepish. But he knew she was not herself, in spirit or in mind. He knew what had happened the last time he tried to help, but Vitus had to inquire. "My lady, are you alright?" The muscles in the back of his eyes twitched as if they too were dreading her reply.

Susan heaved a sigh and stroked Lucy's hair to occupy and hide her trembling hands. "No, I'm not." She admitted at last with a hint of bite and sorrow in her voice. "I saw my dearest friend and mentor take his own life. My sister has been brutally attacked and Peter has gouges in his chest because of this ghost. I've implemented the remorse that plagues Edmund. The woman who I placed on a pedestal of everything I should strive to be as a woman suffered needlessly and died before my eyes." She paused, staring blankly in the distance, lost in her own thoughts. "And I am powerless to stop these and worse happenings unless I have answers."

Susan's voice was helpless and it was obvious despair was taking the place of panic. Vitus had an urge to brush his hand against her cheek to comfort her but he stood his distance, well aware of what had happened earlier. For the moment, she was still Susan, his friend's sister but he knew not when and if in the next moment Lihi would take over. "Nobody said that _you_ had to be the one to find the answers." He reminded haltingly but Susan shook her head to dismiss that idea. She was the logical one after all.

Susan's brow furrowed in thought and they sat in silence for a moment. Vitus opened his mouth to speak but then shut it, at a loss of what exactly to say. Then as is it came right back to him, he opened his mouth to speak again yet closed it once more. He could have kicked himself, looking like a cod fish in front of the queen.

At length, Susan looked up at him with a glint in her eyes. The griot silently sighed as he realized that it was her usual psychopathic glint she got when she had made up her mind, got an idea or both. "The Toirdhealbhach." She gently eased Lucy's head on the cushion and in one swift movement stood in front of Vitus waving her hands and babbling in coherently. The political prisoner briefly thought of how odd it was to be relived that this was normal behavior for Queen Susan but pushed it in the back of his mind. "If anywhere has answers, the Toirdhealbhach would!" She concluded, gesturing wildly then abruptly committing to pacing about the room.

Vitus nodded in understanding. The Toirdhealbhach was the largest library on the continent and held every book, scroll and record ever written in Narnia since Aslan sang it into existence. During the Great Winter, a great many Talking Beasts strove to protect the texts from the Witch's clutches, which seemed intent to destroy all semblance of Queen Swanwhite's dynasty. They ferried the texts to underground caverns spanning over three miles wide and ten stories deep. He had been there once or twice, accompanying the Four to the famous library. He instantly knew what Susan was thinking. Answers would be found there surely and he recalled that from the swamps, the archives were but a day's journey as the griffin flies.

It seemed that Susan had the same thought as she moved to a small table and shuffled through papers that sat idle. She snatched one at the top and hastily scribbled something on it. The scratching of the quill to parchment was the only sound in the room until she set the quill back into its inkwell.

"Take this." She instructed, holding out the folded parchment. Vitus complied, and she continued, her voice was hurried as if she was speaking from the top of her mind. "Since Edmund made the decree that nobody should leave these walls until this storm breaks-" it seemed almost natural as a flash of lightning illuminated her face and she spoke over the thunder. "-this note will get you in and out of the castle. Find Peter and Edmund to tell them of your errand. If they refuse, tell them you didn't inform them for their permission and it's a personal request from me. Eadwig will be willing to fly you-he always is eager to fly no matter the weather. Research and find anything you can about Madame Lihi, the history of the swamplands and…King Frank II. And do it quickly. I fear that time is running short."

She moved about the room after she fell abruptly silent and rearranged items ever so slightly. Vitus stared after Susan, wondering if that was all she had to say to him. At length with her not speaking to him, the lad haltingly spoke up. "Are-are you sure you and Queen Lucy will be alright?" She gave him a slight incline of her head and knowing that was the most he was going to get from her, the griot left with his mind on the task of how to tell the kings of what had just transpired.

* * *

It didn't take him long to find the two among a throng consisting of E.G., the captain of the guard, several high ranking soldiers and the General Oreius. They stood in the armory on the first floor. It was a passable size but being at the end of a long hall that held a dead end, it was the perfect place to discuss what their next moves would be with out prying ear or eye. Vitus stood on the fringe of the gathering, silent and rapidly thinking of what he was to say. Everything that came to mind sounded foolish, overly blunt or suspiciously awkward. Exactly how Vitus was going to do this eluded him.

How was one to tell his best friend and king that the little sister (whom he protected like a mother hawk) was possessed by a vengeful entity that was most likely to blame for the deaths? And not to mention that he found this out because the entity literally pressed herself against Vitus in a most sexual fashion. Really, the lad decided, there was no good way to divulge this information.

But before he could think of said good way, Peter had noticed his friend. Stepping through the throng of military advisors, the High King stepped forward with Edmund in his wake. The Magnificent looked at Vitus as if to say he thought he stationed the griot to watch the girls. Knowing his friend's mind, Vitus automatically spoke, "They're fine. Queen Susan sent me." He held out the note with Susan's hasty handwriting on it.

The royal brothers looked it over and Vitus, eager to get the ordeal over with spoke hastily as they read. "She believes that there are answers in the Toirdhealbhach and wants me to depart almost immediately to find them."

"Of course Susan would be thinking of answers when our main concern is to get the people away from here as swiftly and as safely as we can." Edmund muttered, half to himself, half to his brother. "When the spider asked the fly into his parlor the fly complied to better know the spider."

"But the question is that _can_ we escape these clutches." Peter retorted absent mindedly, half reading the message. Any attempt to find the missing young ones had turned futile and even now, his military advisors were drawing connections to the disappearances and the deaths of Waylon and his lady. It was obvious that if they were not careful, there would be more deaths and disappearances. He had already commanded that the Narnians who usually slept in clusters around the grounds to rest their heads in one central location. Those who were stationed on duty, the sentries, the cat watchmen, and the four's body guards were instructed to do rounds in doubles.

At length, Peter looked up at his best friend with tired eyes. "Will finding such answers do any good?"

"Its hard to say," Vitus said grimly on a shrug, "I would most definitely find for sure what holds this place and there is an off chance the archives might have some record on how to overcome this evil but…as it is alluded to, your Highnesses might not need this aid when I return. It has taken the lives of three and most likely the lives of the chick and pups."

The Elderly Gentleman spoke from the throng of military advisors, "Do you have an idea on where to start, lad, to get the answers back to us faster?"

"But what is there to say if there is no audience here to listen save the dead, regardless if we escape or perish?" Another cut in.

"I have a hunch on what holds this castle, sirs." Vitus replied, wishing he could be on his way and then well on his way back to help. "Although I cannot speak for the deaths of Waylon and Lady Dores as well as the attacks upon their Majesties; the death of her babe, the disappearance of the Gallewe chick and Bristlesplat pups as well as the experiences of hearing children through out the castle, all lead me to suspect that the demon Lihi's behind this. Researching would give me answers as to why she is hounding us and what we can do to loose her grip. I'll be but two, maybe three days if my suspicions are right."

Edmund handed Vitus the parchment back, knowing that they had nothing really to loose. "Well, Master Griot, let's pray that you meet us again in three days time in the halls of the Cair."

Nodding, Vitus moved to head to find the griffon who would take him to Toirdhealbhach. But he paused for a moment, still at a loss to inform the Kings of the spirit that held their sister. "My Lords…" He began, haltingly knowing that it must be said. He searched for the words but all that came out was, "kee-keep an eye on Susan. I'm not entirely sure what, but there is something amiss." He then turned on his heel and walked away so swiftly that the kings did not have time to pose questions.

* * *

Fungus Bristlesplat unfurled himself and poked his head outside of the den. Cold air and stinging rain met him and the old meerkat was glad that Sabine reasoned with the distraught Avril to let Fungus sleep in the den until the storm blew over. His only other choice was to risk getting squashed by sleeping with the rest of the court who, upon King Peter's command, slept in one central place. Luckily, Sabine was a convincing speaker and talked Avril into letting Fungus stay in the only other place to sleep: the den. 'What a good lad, that Sabine.' Fungus mused ruefully as he stepped outside, letting the curled up Valerious take the brunt of the cold as he was now the closest Bristlesplat to the entrance.

Fungus hated to admit it but he was going to miss his family. But he hoped his niece's head would cool off once –or if- they got back to the Cair. The family would see that Fungus was right. He never liked this castle the moment he saw it through the marsh trees. And after that ghost pushed him in the muck, Fungus often wondered what had compelled him to return. No, Avril will return to the Cair with a regretful heart and a forgiving spirit.

The wind was at Fungus' back, almost urging him to take the first steps and leave the grounds, despite King Edmund's decree. A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the now deserted courtyard. After King Edmund had gathered the search party the families and others had slowly left the courtyard to cower in their own homes around the premises.

Fungus knew that there would be guards posted near and around all of the exits and if he was caught there would be hell to pay. So he planned to make his exit though one of the small openings in the wall near the training lists and the millery. It was on the far end of the grounds- behind the castle itself. Fungus had traveled there for morning rounds and despite the lists being spruced up and void of underbrush, the rest of the area (save for a path to get to the lists and the miller's) was over grown. The old meerkat knew how to stay low in the grass and knew it would be hard indeed for any lookout to spot him.

He made his way silently through the grounds as the rain came down in sheets, threatening to over come and drown him. Meerkats were hardy animals but they were not only useless in rain and snow but death was a very real fact in such elements. He moved slow in the rain. By the time he had reached the millery hours had passed and Fungus had to lean against a post under the eaves of the building to catch his breath. He was almost to freedom, he knew. The wall that kept enemies out of the castle grounds was only feet away. The old meerkat leaned his head back against the soft dirt of the ground and took a deep breath as if to gather all of his strength for what was to come next.

But a rushed 'psst' made him sit up with a startle. He was not alone out in this storm. Once again he heard a 'psst' coming from around the corner leading to the back of the millery. Fungus stood on his hind legs, fully alert and completely still. Perhaps if he stayed completely still, they would leave him.

Moments passed and at length a head poked out from behind the building. Her long dark hair fell in limp curls and a large rose that held back a few curls had most of its petals gone. She looked at him under thick eyebrows with wide, beckoning brown eyes. Her face was serious, pleading and exceedingly young. Her ears betrayed her lower half to be that of a horse. She was probably one of the centaurs' daughters who sought solitude in her fear. The centaurs had always looked down on displaying fear in front of other. She vaguely reminded Fungus of the General Oreius-something about her nose, perhaps. But the meerkat immediately dismissed it. To him all of the centaurs looked the same to him.

The child centaur motioned to Fungus to join her behind the building and, despite his better judgment, the meerkat had no choice but to comply. She seemed young, probably barely beginning the journey to becoming a mare. Despite his words against finding his grand-nieces and grand-nephews, Fungus' softness for children over took him.

The filly ducked back behind the wall and although something in the back of his mind warned him, Fungus felt compelled to step forward to the girl. He rounded the corner and his small eyes widened at the sight behind the millery.

* * *

**A/n: here is chap 14! It was (once again) part of a larger chapter but you lot (once again) waited long enough for the chapter. Whether or not the scenes can truly stand on their own as an entire chapter is up to your disgression. I'm luke warm about it being enough for a full chap...but I digress....For those of you who want to pronounce Toirdhealbhach, if you ask jeeves how it is pronounced it will lead you to a forum where it explains it. Its in the second post. Thanks to my reviewers and hitters for their patience!!**


	15. Legacy Revealed

Susan must have paced at least a score's count around the chamber after Vitus had left her and Lucy by themselves. The youngest queen had slept peacefully for the most of the hour and as it came to a close, the Gentle's pacing slowed to the large window. The rain splattered in strong drops against the pane as if it were engaged in a vain siege of the castle. A bolt of lightning crossed the sky and the thunder immediately responded.

As a girl in Finchley, Susan's father would hold her tight when storms came. He had told her that if she counted the time between the lightning flash and the thunder's rumble that they could calculate how far the storm was. When the thunder came right after, Susan had always taken comfort in the fact that the storm was over them and in a few minutes, it would pass over them, becoming but a distant memory. But this storm had hovered over the castle and every flash of lightning was answered immediately with the thunder's rebuttal.

The Gentle placed a hand on the window pane, a feeling of hopelessness washing over her anew. She had no doubt that Vitus would come through with answers but-and she shuddered at the very thought for it was against her nature- what good would answers do them? Even if they were still alive to hear what Vitus had uncovered, would knowing the story behind their tormentor really do anything for them? Could knowing the story have saved Dores' life? Could it keep her siblings from being attacked? Would it have really prevented Waylon taking his own life on the battlements? These thoughts troubled her for logic had no place in them. 'Perhaps,' she began to think to herself extending her pointer finger, 'I should attempt to find the answers in my own ways to ensure Vitus would have living bodies to report to…'

"Suuuuusannnnnn…." The call made her pause in her steps. At first she wondered if she even heard her name. It sounded so soft that it could have easily have been the patter of rain, the scurrying of small Narnians or even the sound of her long skirts brushing against something. But when it sounded again, a shimmer in the mirror caught her eye. Casting a quick look at her sister's sleeping form, Susan concluded with a lump of fear in her throat that Lucy could not have called for her. Once again, she heard her name and as she walked hesitantly to the mirror, the voice began to grow louder.

For a brief moment, when the Gentle looked into the mirror, all she could see was her own haggard reflection. But then, as if the body was made of a light gauzy fabric, she saw Waylon's body materialize. His tunic was soaked in his own blood and as his head materialized, all she could look at was the gash in his neck. With the appearance of his windpipe settling deep with in the gash, Susan gagged. She had always imagined that a ghost would appear as they were in life not as they were at death. A wave of hopelessness and grief washed over her anew as the realization that her dearest friend was indeed dead. Did she loose her pillar of strength because she was too stubborn to leave this retched place?

His name was on the queen's lips before she knew it as she pressed her hand on the mirror's glass as if to touch Waylon. A smile spread her former friend's countenance and when he greeted her with his usual 'Gentle Susan', she let out a strangled sob. He had always said her name as if her title and name were one word. The realization that she would never hear his greeting again caused the reality of the situation to hit the young queen. Waylon- the man who taught her how to greet each member of King Lune's court in Archenland-was dead. But surely if he were to speak to her beyond the grave it would be to aid her as he always did in life.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost, Gentle Susan." The former noble spoke with a grim grin at his poor joke. The Gentle only gaped at his fatal neck wound, noting with a clenched stomach how she could see his windpipe move with every word. Shrugging, the apparition gave a dry laugh that was poles apart from his laugh in life. "But I suppose that I am that ghost, eh?"

It took a moment for the queen to gain her tongue but at length she asked. "Are you trapped here?"

"Aye," Waylon nodded casually as if his response was of a more mundane topic. "I suppose I am. Not all of the mirrors were covered at the time of my death. Yet, who would imagine any soul would be allowed to leave with the evil that binds the place even if the tradition was observed?"

Susan cast a glace at Lucy who remained asleep. How could she not wake to this? Susan swallowed that persistent lump in her throat. She could think of a few reasons why Lucy was oblivious and did not like either of them. Yet she reasoned that Waylon was there for a reason and if he was there then that meant the other souls lost that night would be trapped as well. "Is Dores there with you?"

"Aye," came the simple reply.

"Where is she then?"

At the question Waylon's smile faltered. "She is elsewhere in the castle. But you will never get a hold of her. There are others in the castle, Gentle Susan, other countless souls but some are not meant to be seen."

"What on earth do you mean?" Susan wondered, cocking an eyebrow. Waylon was making no sense and the possibility that she was going mad and hallucinating was becoming a very viable possibility.

"There are three types here. Those who are meant to be seen. Those who are meant to be heard and those who are meant to be felt. Woe to whichever mortal soul encounters the latter." Waylon replied calmly-about as calmly and matter of factly as he would have in life yet his explanation was not comprehended.

"I do not follow." Susan admitted irritably for she rarely ever wanted to admit that. "Why did you show yourself to me? Why did you kill yourself in the first place?! Why ME?" Her frustration was building along with the volume of her voice.

"You want answers, Gentle Susan?" The question came on a whisper and from a slightly crooked grin. "You want to know why and who is doing this to you and yours. It was always in your nature…to question."

The queen paused. A small fiber of her being seemed to cry out in protest to the idea yet a much more dominant one urged her forward with an aggressiveness she was unaware of. She barely heard herself reply to Waylon. "Aye."

Waylon's eyes flashed with an emotion that almost seemed satisfied with her answer. Wordlessly, he reached out his hand through the glass. And with out question, Susan took it, ignoring how the congealed blood on his hands squished around her pale hand, staining it a light red.

She had no clue if she was taken into the mirror or if she was hallucinating but in half a moment, the Gentle found herself standing in a swirling void with her dead friend by her side. The sitting room had faded away into nothingness yet grey mist swirled around them, revealing the inner secrets of that damned castle.

A breath later and she found herself watching a young man carrying his sun kissed bride up the stairs of the great hall. She knew the face of that man from the sculptures, tapestries and paintings that managed to escape the Witch's purge. The version she was used to had the man much more age-worn with graying brown hair but the blue eyes of King Frank II was the same in youth as they were in his prime. The castle must have been where he and his young wife made house before he took the throne and thus his father's name. As soon as they reached the top of the staircase, the man who would become Frank II set his wife on her feet. The Gentle chanced a glance at Waylon who somberly looked on as if he were looking at nothing at all. Did he even see the specters she saw or was she completely off of her rocker?

'I fear that my prowess concerning the threshold tradition is limited to me having to put my bride down before I open the door.' The current prince admitted sheepishly as a blush crept up to his cheeks. 'But then again,' he added quickly, 'I doubt that the tradition applies to _all_ of the thresholds.' He began to continue but his new wife silenced him by a slender finger on his lips.

'Such practices fall beyond my understanding.' She told him with a laugh. Lihi paused and looked at her feet with a blush to match her new husband's. She was truly beautiful, Susan decided. Lihi's dark hair fell loosely and straight down her back. From behind a lush curtain of eyelashes, Lihi looked up at the prince. 'You must remember that I am not of your kind, my love.'

'But of course, Lihi.'

'Your traditions are strange to me as are the varied natives of this lush land but you will find I am an eager and independent learner, Patrick*.' She paused to let the innuendo sink in.

In the brief silence, Waylon spoke up before Susan could ask him what he meant. "Desert Dryad, Calmorene Sand Sirens, call them what you like. Cunning and manipulative creatures, they were to the heart of every man. She happened to be one of the leaders of a cluster in the deserts of Calmoren. Married Prince Patrick to see other places than endless sand.'

'There's no such thing as a desert dryad, is there?' Susan wondered, 'We would be bound to have read about them in our lessons.'

'Tis no surprise that you don't know of them. They were slaughtered, the lot of them when they tricked the early Calmorene men one to many times. No more exist.'

Susan opened her mouth to reply yet her attention was drawn to the couple on the stairs.

' I agreed to be your wife to learn more of your ways. While your family treats me with a suspicious shoulder, I know that you will always stand up for mistakes made in this Narnia.'

The future king scoffed kindly and lifted his wife's chin as he assured her, 'You worry for nothing. Lihi, regardless of what my family thinks, you are my wife. And as I had promised, I will forever support you.'

They turned to exit the great hall and the scene melted into another set in such a familiar and vivid place, Susan almost thought she had traveled the week long journey back to the Narnian capital. "The Cair!" She breathed with fond recognition.

Despite the centuries between the current castle and the one that she stood in at that moment, there was a surprising lack of difference. She knew from the filigreed carvings along the alabaster pillars and the deep hue of the carved cherry wood mantle, that they stood in one of the chambers in the west wing of the castle. The rich colors contrasted in a beautiful harmony with the azure of the ocean seen from the balcony and from the white marble walls. It almost seemed like the room itself glowed.

Footsteps sounded from the chamber connected to the room Susan and Waylon stood in and in a moment, a woman entered in a huff with a swish of an olive green skirt with silver embroidery. Susan's voice caught in her throat as she noticed the woman's piercing and all knowing blue eyes, her delicate features which seemed to belie her air of hardiness. And with one look at the woman's silver streaked chocolate curls swept up into a chignon and the gold crown that graced her head, her identity was obvious. Susan was seeing Queen Helen the Snowdrop of the North.

Before she could speak her astonishment, Helen's son, Prince Patrick entered swiftly followed by another man. He was decidedly several years older than the prince and his clothes bespoke his station to be close to or at the same level of the royal family.

"Now, Patrick, you must see reason!" The man half yelled at the prince, "She abducted and tortured eleven Narnians under her service with in the half a year you two have been in the Cair. You've been wed for a year and a half. Just think of the number of victims that lie in your castle in the swamp regions." His anger seemed unchecked and his lack of formality to the queen and prince was untraditional. With in a moment Susan placed the man as Owen Lighton, the adopted son of Frank and Helen and also the founder of Archenland which had started out as part of Narnia itself.

"Lihi is my wife, Owen," Patrick shot back fiercely, slamming down his fist against the fireplace's mantle. "I can't just drop her like she's burnt my hands!"  
Helen paced across the room, her body rigid from the strain of the events and the stand her son was making. A strangled cry escaped her lips and she placed her hands over her mouth as if to keep the sobs at bay. "Your father's health is perilous and soon I will be a widow." Helen began as she turned to her sons, rising herself to her fullest height. "Which means you will take your father's throne and his name once his body has gone cold. But this _thing_ who shares your bed… I will be dammed if she will take _my_ throne and lead _my _people along your side.

She's killed eleven and the lion knows how many more. Lihi must be held accountable, even if 'she knows not of our culture'." Helen paused and took her son's face in her hands as she asked firmly, "Who would follow a king who has a wife who slaughters his people for 'curiosity's sake'? Listen to me, Patrick! If you want to be the king that your father is and keep your country safe from internal and external threats, you _must _leave your wife."

"You of all people are asking me to leave the woman I love for politics?" the Prince accused, wrenching himself away from his mother's grasp.

"I don't know why you don't see this but what you and that desert dryad have is a marriage of lust and sexual pleasure. It is certainly not _love_. And before you begin thinking with your body, _my son,_ and write this off as just politics, remember those who have sacrificed so many things that Narnia could live on. I did not loose my oldest son to the giants' insurrection for you to throw away the kingdom due to lust. I did not leave my home with out a single question for you to take Narnia for granted. If you could have known the poverty I've seen and experienced before Aslan brought me to Narnia….you would not be willing to trade your kingdom for a…"

Susan turned to Waylon with a quizzical look on her face. "Lihi tortured and killed those Narnians and therefore she must be brought to justice and she was banished. But why are they trying to convince Prince Patrick to leave Lihi?"

"It's one thing to have an estranged wife as a criminal than a cherished wife as a criminal. Helen was afraid of Narnians taking arms against Prince Patrick if he took the throne with a queen who was so sadistic to have spilt Narnian blood needlessly. And so they urged him to leave her in order to satisfy the cry of revenge Narnians were screeching." Waylon explained calmly as the first queen and Owen attempted to convince the Prince that what they were saying was truth.

Susan looked Waylon in the eye, attempting to take in this impromptu alternative history lesson. She could not bring herself to reply and when she turned back to the scene, it had already changed so that they were standing in the Great Hall.

The two invisible onlookers stood between the two thrones that were lost to history in the present. The King's throne held the grim faced Prince and next to him his mother sat clad in black, her countenance covered by a black veil. History told that King Frank's health had teetered dangerously on the eve of his twenty-first year of his reign and Prince Patrick had stepped in as a steward for some months incase an untimely death forced the prince to kinghood.

Helen sat beside her son, her face set impassively in stone and her chin set defiantly. Along the edged of the dais were U shaped chairs set aside for the rest of the royal family.

Two centaur guards flung a woman to the floor so that she could kneel prostrate before her sovereigns. The woman's dirty elegant gown, caramel skin and black hair that fell haphazardly over her face designated her as Lihi. She looked up at Patrick from behind a curtain of locks and reached out to her husband.

"Tell them I was not at fault, Patrick!" Lihi pleaded in a honey dripped voice.

At her plea Owen stood up and hissed angrily, "Keep your forked tongue in your head, Sand Siren. You are in no position to plead your innocence."

Susan quietly observed taking the visions of the first royal family for all that it was worth as a small porcupine page waddled forth and offered a parchment to the prince. Patrick unscrolled the proclamation, his eyes never leaving the woman before him and read in a voice so firm, determined and hard that his words echoed off of the walls as if placing ultimate authority over what he read. "Lihi, Sand Siren of the Calmorene Desert, you are hereby charged of the brutal massacre of eleven known Narnians in the space of six months: the centaur Vesperius, Fauns Deszeo and Wioleta, the ram Bergliot, Herald the Pig; appointed Porter of Cair Paravel, the Nobel Panther Azarias, a hound; Gulzar, the birch dryad Honey Glaze, Lark; handmaiden to the Queen, Eudane; a swan and one soul so mutilated identification is impossible. The charge of murdering an unanswered quantity of Narnians is also added to these charges.

Your victims were found by the gracious Queen Helen in the North Eastern tower room horribly mutilated each appearing to have been a part of grisly experiments. Some were cut open in various places and had organs removed- of which were either strewn about the floor or inserted in various orifices of other victims. Other incisions were sewn closed with intestines or blood vessels, still attached to the victim. Limbs were broken, taken apart and reassembled on unnatural regions of the body. Victims with the blessing of death were left where they expired, rotting. Your last victim, Wioleta was found on a table, insides fully exposed and skin pulled back like a canvas. It appears that you were attempting to turn the faun inside out. How do you plea, wife?"

Susan shuddered at the grisly description and tried to turn away from the scene and stop her ears. But Waylon's firm grip enclosed around her shoulder as he none too gently turned the Southern Sun to face the scene. "You wanted answers, Gentle Susan." He reminded swiftly with a hint of mockery in his voice as Lihi admitted to everything in the background.

A shiver ran down Susan's spine at his words. "I've seen enough." She lobbied in a feeble voice. There was some sort of argument between several people but Susan did not know why nor did she care. Her head felt light and her stomach clenched in protest to the descriptions of Lihi's victims.

Waylon's grip tightened and a darkness clouded his features. "You know not the half of it. Watch."

"Madame Lihi," Patrick continued, looking intently on the parchment in his hands rather than his wife. "Due to your crimes against the Narnian people, you are hereby stripped of your title and are no longer fit to be called my wife. You shall return to the castle in the Marshlands and there you will be contained until death takes you." Several of those assemble shook their heads believing that the woman should have gotten a harsher sentence that made her death more immediate. Patrick rolled up the scroll and handed it back to the page. Silently he walked down the dais and upon stopping in front of Lihi, tilted her chin up to face him. Quietly he whispered, "Know, woman, that what ever existed between us has withered and died. Only respect out of what we shared in the time of our time together is what keeps your life in tact. I shall forget you as the seasons pass."

Lihi snarled and opened her mouth to reply but once again the scene shifted and Susan found herself standing on the balcony overlooking the courtyard with the royal family. Owen and the other children of Helen and Frank sat in seats much like the ones reserved for them in the Grand Hall. Helen sat in a gilded chair to the right of the thrones. Her black garb and veil showed that she was a widow at the time and that her oldest son sat on the throne. The king stood next to his beautiful new wife, Amaranta who held their first born son protectively from her bosom.

"An act that should have occurred years ago." Helen muttered to Owen as the king passed judgment and allowed the condemned for last words.

From the court yard a woman's voice bellowed and Susan was urged by Waylon to step forward in order to get a better look. Lihi stood before the executioner's block, her dark hair blowing out of her bun in the wind, clad in a simple blue gown. The surrounding crowd demanded her blood, the names of Lihi's victims on their lips. Raising a finger to the balcony Lihi spoke, "It is you Helen who has brought me to this and I blame you for my fate. Know that I will continue to take Narnians for as long as there is Aslan's own on the throne that should have been mine. Your dynasty will be destroyed in a flash of white! I call upon the Darkness to give me strength! Mark my words from this night forth, you shall not sleep with peace of mind! Your nightmares will be inhabited by _me_ and your base fear of what lurks in the night will be _me_. And _you_ _will pay_…for I know all that the moon sees…"

The scene melted again and Susan found herself standing in darkness with Waylon. Silently, he released his grip from Susan's shoulder and the young queen resisted the urge to rub her shoulder.

"The Darkness heard Lihi and granted her the status of a Moroi, a malevolent being borne from life evils and a pact with Darkness."

"Why us?" Susan wondered simply, asking the question that was on the Four's minds since the beginning of the whole ordeal.

"What a stupid question. You're here, are you not? What more does the Mistress need?"

Susan raised her eyebrow in suspicion and for the first time since the beginning of the conversation with her old friend, a trickle of fear ran down her spine at the notion that this could possibly not be the Waylon she knew in life. "Mistress?"

"Indeed, Child of Helen." A woman's voice spoke from the darkness. Lihi sauntered seductively up to the two despite her feet facing in the wrong direction. "Well done, Newcomer. It is rather tedious to only possess a body for a short amount of time." Lihi turned her attention to Susan who was frozen in her place by fear. "I do love the feel of torn flesh in my hands." Lihi took the young queen's face in her cold, cracked hands and continued, "Thanks to you and others, I am getting stronger…"

* * *

* See revision note in Chapter 2 concerning King Frank II's name. I had to make some revisions in this story for continuity sake.

* * *

**A/n: Yes, I went there with the poltergeist reference. I really could not think of a better way to end the chap than on a cliff hanger….Thanks to all who read and also those who review too! ^_^ Happy Halloween!!**


	16. A promise of new playmates to come

**A/N: Wow! Sorry for the lack of updating! School kind of ate my life. I love how when you are being eaten by work and don't have a moment to spare, you get bombarded with plot bunnies who were AWOL for months….I digress. Enjoy!**

Peter could feel the blood furiously pump where the bridge of his nose intersected his forehead. The High King resisted the urge to massage it. "Continue the rounds every hour and make sure that the watchmen tonight are paired." He told the Elderly Gentleman, a large, scruffy cat who was head of the castle guard. "Those who aren't rotating on rounds need to be near where the…" The word escaped Peter's mind and he wordlessly shook his hand, as if that gesture would supply the forgotten word to his sleep deprived mind. "…the nobles and servants and the families of the guards…"

"The court, sire?" The cat commonly called E.G. for short quipped as the other officers went about their orders and Edmund spoke quietly with Oreius.

"Aye, where the court is huddled for safety. Hourly reports come to me. I want to know who is moving, who…and _what_ is where. Safety is in numbers, I suppose."

"And you Sire, will be awake for these hourly reports?" E.G. wondered evenly, obliging an itch with his back leg.

"Dawn is but a few hours away. I see no need to retire."

The old cat's right ear flicked back for a moment, as if he was raising his eyebrows, and replied bluntly, "Nor did you feel the need last night, King Peter." Any other officer would add 'if I may be so bold' but the Elderly Gentleman was at the Pevensies' sides since about the very beginning. He felt no need to use such polite pretenses between him and his monarchs and they felt the same.

"We are being harassed by a spirit, E.G. Several Narnians are missing, three Narnians are dead and my youngest sister was attacked by something none but the dead can see. I am not asinine in not retiring." The Magnificent replied on a strained laugh as King Edmund approached them. The Elderly Gentleman regarded King Peter with amber eyes, reflecting on how it always surprised him how perfectly the High King's title described the young monarch.

"Peter," Edmund greeted, looking just as worn as his brother, "I'm going to check on the girls, see how they are fairing."

The High King nodded, "Aye, I'll accompany you." He paused and turned to the captain of the guard, regarding his orders. "E.G., let it be so."

* * *

"Here, now, child!" Fungus half whispered, half yelled to the young filly who had beckoned him from behind the millery, "What are you doing out in this damp, chill weather when King Edmund has decreed for the court to stay in close quarters? Your mother must be worried sick! How naught of you." He made his way slowly to where the young filly was. After traveling in the down pour, the small mammal was weary and his joints ached something terrible.

"Mother's worried." The filly echoed is a vague, spacey voice. Another voice, this of a young male echoed the filly's statement. His voice sounded muffled and upon turning the corner, Fungus noticed that the colt had buried his face in his sister's flanks.

"I want to go home." The colt pitifully stated.

"Now child," The old meerkat replied fondly, stepping closer. He felt an overwhelming helplessness from the two and despite the fact that he knew that survival was bleak if they stayed in the castle, Fungus spoke of hope. "Things just look hopeless because of the storm." He concluded.

The filly shook her head and replied to him, "She sees all that the moon does. Itzal says her roots are taken." She spoke quick and breathlessly, as if she were speaking more of whims than serious matters.

"Stop this kafuffle and return to your parents."

"Return to our parents, he bids us, Baldo." The filly informed the colt with her chin tilted towards him slightly. "Father is here, not so with mother."

"I am glad, Itzal had his father with him and soon we shall not be lonely anymore."

Although Fungus' mind bid him to run his feet would not move. It began to dawn on him that these were not earthly centaurs and he cursed himself for not pressing on until the castle's battlements were behind him.

"Itzal likes to play." Baldo continued with his head still buried in the filly's flank. "He is never lonely but I don't like playing with those that I might step on. Father will play with us soon, though. Won't he Ebele?" The colt lifted his head and Fungus' little eyes widened to the point of almost popping out of his head. The colt's face was a mass of exposed muscle and flesh too stubborn to peel off. Some of the muscle rotted in a green hue that smelled as bad as it looked. His brown eyes were no longer hooded by eyelids and stood out, unprotected by the skin. The skin on his neck was gone as well, exposing wind pipe but at his chest rested the skin that was pulled off of his face.

"Many others will be here besides Father now that the Mistress is housed in flesh." The Filly explained calmly.  
Fungus willed his body to move away from the ghostly pair and for once it listened, sending his little legs past the two in a hurry. But no sooner did he scurry out from under the millery roof did he find himself in front to the two centaurs. They stood above him, their stern centaurian faces looking displeased. From his position, Fungus gasped at the sight of long slashed on the centaurs underbellies where he could see the places where their entrails should have been.

"You can not run when the Mistress needs use of you." The filly said to Fungus matter-of-factly.

Baldo reached down and grasped Fungus who could only gape at what the filly's long hair could not curtain. Her back was hollowed out of internal organs entirely, leaving only her ribs against skin. "Itzal is playing with those meerkat and chicken young but we will bring this meerkat to the Mistress." He explained to anyone who wished to hear it.

"Aye, she will want to feel his innards against her new skin. I believe she shall be pleased." The filly smiled a hollow smile as the three disappeared in the pouring rain, leaving behind a streak of lightning illuminating the spot the previously occupied.

**Another A/N: Woot! This is a quickie but I feel its powerful. Leave it to Oreius' dead kids to be creepily cryptic. Do I get points for fitting in the word 'kafuffle' in an actual sentence? Anywhoo, this has not been through my beta because I just had to get it up! Forgive any typos you see. :) And now to sleep! Thank you for everyone who is checking, reading and reviewing! You all are superspecialawesome!**


	17. The roots run deep

The two kings strode silently down the hall to where their sisters were, too weary from the toll of the past hours to hold a conversation. They had been in situations that required them to think beyond their fatigue before on the battlefield and in a way this was no different. Yet the strain of fighting an enemy that they could not see was taking its toll on their communication skills.

Edmund glanced at his brother and could not help but notice the bloodshot eyes and bags hewn into Peter's stone like face. Now would definitely not be the best time for Edmund to tell Peter about what he was keeping secret. Yet, what good would it be to tell the captain how the ship got a hole in it as its sinking? Oreius all but told Edmund that it would make no difference whether or not Edmund told Peter about it. Edmund opened his mouth to speak but before he could, the sound of hurried footsteps filled the hall.

At the sight of Lucy sprinting down the corridor, Edmund called over his shoulder for the guard who trailed behind them, assigned to stand watch over the queens after it was sure they were alright.

"Peter! Edmund!" Lucy called, halting to a stop in front of them and all but colliding with them as well. Tears stained her white cheeks as she choked out fragments of sentences. It took only the words 'Su', 'wrong' and 'blood' to send the group sprinting down where Lucy came from.

* * *

Vitus swiftly wound up the spiral staircase leading to the tower where the griffins stayed. Eadwig was another Narnian who had been with the Four from the day that Peter, Susan and Lucy entered Aslan's camp hoping He could help their brother. The griffin was young and within the five years after the Long Winter, Eadwig was ever still the daredevil. If anyone could get to the Great Library in this storm, it was Eadwig.

The stair was twisting and despite the renovations, required the griot to keep one hand on the jagged wall lest he loose his balance. As he turned the corner, his hand brushed against something that was most certainly not stone. Upon contact, Vitus felt slender, slippery fingers entwine around his hand.

"Such haste, giot." The voice sent a chill down his spine for he heard it before. He knew there was no way Queen Susan could have slipped out of the sitting room to meet him on the stairs when Vitus had passed the room with both Queens in it on his way to the tower. "Stay just a while longer." Lihi finished, using Susan's hand to pull him up the darkened stair. The hand was cold yet the liquid that it was covered in and stained Vitus' hand was warm. The griot realized with a shudder that it was blood, although he could not discern whether it was Susan's or another's.

Lihi pulled Vitus close to her again and up close, Vitus noticed that while the body was that of the queen's, the eyes-which were as black and as empty as the abyss- belonged to Lihi.

"Were you planning on scurrying away?" Lihi chuckled while running her fingers over Vitus' chest as if longing to grasp his beating heart.

"Release the body of the Queen." Vitus replied with false bravery, as the demon housed in the Gentle scratched thin lines of blood on his chest.

A cold laugh shook Vitus to his core. "On whose authority? The Lion's? I assure you, Griot, the Lion has no authority here."

* * *

By the time the three made it to the chamber, several faun guards had followed in their wake. Lucy had run to them, with the news that Susan was injured or had been attacked but as they rounded the corner into the chamber, they saw Susan standing by the mirror, mumbling to herself but in no obvious peril.

Lucy looked up at her eldest brother with a mix of relief and concern, "But I _saw_ her slash her forearms! There was blood everywhere, Peter! It-"

The High King placed a tired hand on Lucy's shoulder and that silenced her. The anger that should have been there was bypassed by another thought, "Another one of the castle's tricks. How I grow weary of these."

"I'm sorry to have worried you so." Lucy admitted, sheepishly to which Edmund shrugged.

"We were heading here anyw-" He paused midword, realizing that something was amiss after all. He gestured for the faun guards to stay as the Just took tentative steps further into the room.

"Ed?" Peter began but then he realized it as well. Susan hadn't acknowledged their presence yet. With as much noise as they made when they entered the room, one would think she would notice them, startle or even pause in her quiet monologue. But Susan hadn't twitched or even blinked since they barged into the room.

Peter gently pushed Lucy back as he and Edmund began to advance. The faun guards stayed rooted in their spots, though, refusing to follow their kings. As they began to get closer, it became apparent that she was speaking in another tongue. With years of studying the languages of the neighboring countries, Edmund, Peter and Lucy could not distinguish the language their sister spoke in, but it sounded similar to Calmorene tongue.

Lucy reached out for her brothers' arms to stay them. "No! Something isn't right here."

The Magnificent and the Just paused and turned to Lucy with tired looks. Had it have been a different circumstance, Edmund might have replied sarcastically. The reality of the situation though, held his tongue. Indeed, it wasn't the fact that something was wrong but more of the why of it.

In the split second that Peter and Edmund took their attention away from Susan, her head snapped to face them with such ferocity that it was a wonder that Susan didn't break her neck.

"Back from looking for those young ones?" The voice was Susan's but the tone was off. She wasn't inquiring about the search; it sounded more like a taunt or challenge. "Did they find their entrails yet? I left them near the grand staircase among the garlands." She took a step towards her siblings and gave a cold, harsh smile. It wasn't her usual smile from the person who laughed and grinned with her countenance. Something dark in her unwavering eyes flashed as she continued, "I skinned them, you know, whilst they were alive… I soaked my hands in their blood until it went cold…" In the middle of her soliloquy, Susan fell silent and soon began to speak in another tongue quietly.

* * *

"-And you mean to do the same to us before the end." Vitus tearsly finished, wondering how Eadwig could not hear this exchange in words.

Lihi smiled as Vitus struggled against her grip. A chill ran down the griot's spine for the smile was that of the Gentle's, only warped with the evil that now possessed her. "My, but aren't you the handsome lad." She observed, "I believe I shall make your death slow in repayment. Such features seldom do good to the dead. Perhaps you shall be one of those who are meant to be seen."

As she spoke, Vitus' right hand enclosed on a loose stone in the wall. Although he wasn't sure what he could do with it if he did not want to damage Susan's body, he gripped the stone. "Is there no other body for you to inhabit, demon? Why Queen Susan's?" Vitus wondered, hoping to gain himself time for Eadwig to notice the commotion or for the stone to be discretely wiggled out of it's place.

"You are better served to ask the wolf why he takes the lambs. What predator does not take the weakest prey?"

She was inches away from Vitus' face, so close that he could smell death on her breath. Pointed teeth were so close to his face. Vitus could scarcely quell the urge to vomit as her lips enclosed around his. Several times during his stay in Narnia did he wonder what it would have been like to have the Gentle press her lips to his, to have her arms wrap around him…but never like this. The very thought of Lihi, using Susan's body as though it were a puppet…the evil that was so contrary to the eldest queen made Vitus both nauseated and furious.

Lihi pressed Vitus against the wall of the stairwell, knocking his breath from his lungs. "Why resist, Griot? Is this not what you longed for?" Lihi questioned, raking the back of her hand across his left cheek, leaving three searing scratches trailing from his cheekbone to his chin.

Vitus' hand enclosed tighter around the loose stone and it gave way a little. He knew that if he had to, he could use it. "Not like this, I'm afraid." He returned, allowing his voice to echo, hoping that the griffon heard it. The griot did not want to think of what it would mean if Eadwig didn't.

"It is useless to shout." The demon reprimanded, licking the blood from Vitus cheeks. His skin crawled in repulsion and fear as it continued to speak, "I made sure we would not be heard…"

* * *

Oreius cantered towards the small clump of guards crowding their Majesties near the sitting room Queen Susan and Queen Lucy occupied. He did not wish to relay the grisly news that the remains of the missing pups and chick were found scattered in the great hall. Nor did he want to repeat that these macabre remains were discovered through flashes of lightning while the court took shelter from the raging storm. Pandemonium and panic was ensuing in the Great Hall. The Elderly Gentleman was employing the best of his skills to keep order yet what the Narnians in the hall needed was their monarchs.

Something was amiss though. It became clear as the centaur drew closer. The guards were backing away from the threshold as Edmund strode hesitantly into the room. King Peter followed hastily and Queen Lucy grabbed her eldest brother's arm, begging him for something.

"Queen Lucy," Oreius quietly greeted with apprehension on his voice.

The young queen turned to him then back to her brothers several times. Her hands clutched the High King's wrist in an attempt to stay him. Peter had followed Edmund, who was halfway into the room, several feet and a chaise away from Susan who was staring blankly into the mirror.

"Ed," the High King said in warning, his back to Lucy. The youngest Pevensie shook her brother's arm, looking terrified.

"Peter!" She pleaded urgently, "Ed! Are you daft? Stay away from her!"

"My lady," Oreius said, helplessly trying to soothe the young queen who only tugged at Peter's arm imploringly. "My king, I must speak with you."

This caught the siblings' attention. Swiftly Edmund walked towards the centaur and Lucy managed to pull Peter out of the room. Only Susan remained, staring blankly and muttering.

"Oreius, what news?" The Magnificent wondered quietly as if he did not want to be overheard.

"It's the Bristlesplat pups and Galewe chick, m'lord." Oreius began but was cut off by the Valiant.

"They're dead." She breathed and closed her eyes as if to banish the thought and image. "Susan told us."

The grim looks from the kings confirmed Lucy's statements and with time of the essence, Oreius did not question how. "The court fled to the great hall for shelter from the worsening storm and-hold! Di-did you say Queen Susan told you?"

The High King made an impatient gesture in reply. "The court took shelter and…?" He prompted.

Oreius opened his mouth to reply but another voice rang out before he could make a sound.

"General Oreius," Whatever held Susan's body greeted from within the room. "Please, do sit down." She gestured to one of the chairs within the room. The tone was pleasant enough and Edmund would have suspected that Susan had woken from her present state save for the way her unblinking eyes stared at everything and nothing all at once.

A faun guard beside Edmund muttered an oath to Aslan in fear. The Just recognized that faun as the one from the parapets earlier.

The centaur general found himself walking into the room, though his very fiber warned him not to. Tentatively Oreius replied, "My Queen?"

"Your children are here." She said quietly with a chilling smile spreading across her face. "Baldo and Ebele, I believe. They are very obedient children, I find. Your son is the spitting image of your wife."

Peter cast his brother a confused look for Oreius never mentioned a family to them. Edmund shook his head a little to dismiss the silent question. What caused the fear to rise in him was not that he knew the declaration to be true, but the fact that Susan had no way of naturally knowing of Oreius' children nor of their fate.

The Just pointedly rolled his eyes towards the room, silently communicating a plan to his brother. While Susan was occupied with her conversation, he and Peter would attempt to get to her. There had to be a way to snap her out of this state. The High King nodded, pointing in the directions that they should take. This sort of nonverbal communication was essential to the brothers on the battlefield and both Peter and Edmund were well versed in it. Lucy, however, did not need any training to pick up on their plan and she silently protested as best she could.

From inside the room Susan continued speaking to an almost mesmerized Oreius, "Ebele is not. It's not that she doesn't hold any resemblance to her mother. She has her nose..." Her hand absentmindedly graced the bridge of her nose before continuing. "Yet she has your eyes. I'd venture to say she holds the best of both features. Am I right in saying that?" Another smile flittered briefly across her features.

The centaur frowned. He had not spoken of his family until that night when he spoke to King Edmund. Even a fool could have seen that it was no coincidence that this was spoken of in the place where he had lost his children. And even a fool knew that Queen Susan was possessed perhaps even by Lihi. She knew, even when he had come to the castle over a hundred years ago, that he would bring Lihi her revenge. That creature was not going to get away with it, though, Oreius decided…

Susan met Oreius halfway across the room and was within an arm's reach from him. She did not notice Peter and Edmund slink inside the room. Oreius opened his mouth to question how the Gentle knew these details but before he could voice them, she answered her question for him.

"Of course I am." Her smile faltered and her voice became dangerous and flat. "That's why I ripped out her eyes. After all who doesn't want their little girl to have her mother's eyes?"

* * *

"Tell me something, Lihi." Vitus demanded as fingers cold as ice snaked about his chest. It was quickly becoming clear that Eadwig was unable to hear the exchange in some capacity. Vitus knew that he was going to have to get himself out of this by his own sheer will. His hand clamped tightly around the loose stone in the wall. He only prayed that it would come loose for he only had one chance at this. "Why the Pevensies? They aren't the blood of Queen Helen."

"No, I don't suppose they are, are they?" Lihi whispered into his left ear. "Jadis took care of that, didn't she? Denied me of my vengeance you would think? This is not so. For anyone who sits in Cair Paravel on throne connects themselves to the very first who ruled as if they were born from the flesh of Helen. I shan't be denied my vengeance."

Her rank breath felt stale on his skin. Vitus had but one chance and he had to take it.

* * *

A very un-Susan-like cackle escaped the queen's lips as Oreius trembled in fear and rage. He knew not what greater, fear was for him and his monarch or rage for the thing that resided in her.

"Silence, creature." The centaur growled for he knew he was not speaking to his queen.

The demon possessing Susan only smiled, grimly amused. A pout formed on her lips as she taunted. "Your boy is so unlike you. You trained your foals, as is custom, to be warriors yet..." She scrunched her brow thoughtfully before she continued. "Yet he sobbed and pleaded for his life at the first cut. 'Twas merely cutting off his eyelids so he wouldn't look away while I peeled off the flesh of –"

Before she could finish and before Peter and Edmund could stop him, Oreius lunged at Susan with an anguished cry. The kings rushed forward to keep their general at bay. Despite what was using their sister, everyone knew that it was still the Queen's body. Yet they had not taken one step when the centaur flew across the room, slamming into a bookshelf. Lucy's screams filled the air and mingled with the obliging crack of thunder.

A raspy voice issued from Susan's body, as dry as husk. "You shall be compliant while I speak, creature!" Vehemence dripped from the voice as Oreius writhed in pain.

Lightning flashed, briefly lighting up the room in a blinding light. When it subsided, Susan's form lay on the floor, crumpled like a forgotten rag doll. Blood oozed slowly from the back of her head and when the thunder clapped again, Lucy's screams drowned it out.

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A/N: CLIFFHANGER! My goodness this was a _very_ hard chapter to write and even now I'm not thrilled about it. I apologize for the time it took to get this out. Well, I hope you sleep after reading this. I might not. As always, I really do appreciate people favoriting, alerting and reading but I just wanted to especially thank those who took the time to review. Reviewers, your feedback and prodding helped me get this chapter out so… a very special thanks to you! Please review and tell me what you think.


	18. All Contrived

**A/n: I live! And I'm still plugging away! If you have been keeping up with the long updates, then you guys are amazing! Thank you. If you are new, I'm glad you found me and hope you stick around.**

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"I say," A voice called from the top of the tower stairs as Vitus saw the beaked face of Edawig peek out from around the corner, "what is all of this hullaballoo about? Vitus? Is that you?"

Vitus looked around. Lihi was gone yet was pressed against him but a moment before. It was as if the manifestation shattered as he brought down the stone. Blinking as if coming out in the sun from a darkened place, Vitus climbed the stairs hurriedly.

Eadawig's striking brown feathers ruffled as he took in the foreigner's appearance. Vitus did not register that the scratches on his chest were bleeding through the gray-blue tunic he had donned earlier that night, his only care then being the Performance of the History at the ball. The griffin's golden eyes widened as they fixed on the stone in VItus' hand.

"Is that blood?" The griffin wondered.

Vitus held up the rock to the light from the top of the tower stairs. The blood of the Gentle coated the stone in a shockingly red hue. "By the Lion…" Vitus swore, silently praying that somehow he did not do what he thought he did. He pushed that thought aside. More harm would come to their Majesties and indeed the rest of the court if he didn't escape to find answers.

"I come by the orders of Queen Susan. How fast do you think you can get to the Toirdhealbhach?" Vitus wondered.

The griffin tossed its head as if offering a cocky smile, "A storm such as this one shan't harry me. Will you tell me what this is about?"

"On the way, I shall. We need to hurry. If we delay much longer I fear our window of opportunity will close." Vitus replied, striding across the small upper room, tossing the double doors that led to the griffin's launching balcony. "I pray our window won't be permanent, yet I also hope that I gained us some time."

Eadawig followed the griot out into the driving rain, his head cocked to the side in confusion. "You speak in riddles. Tell me what this is about."

"Stop asking questions and let's get going!" Vitus rounded on the griffin. The griot let out a few swear words before the griffin knelt for him to mount. For all of Eadawig's brashness, he was always irritatingly slow to act but once he got going, practically nothing could catch him. Vitus prayed that the supernatural was among those things. Without further delay Eadawig and Vitus took to the sky.

* * *

Lucy's hands went to her mouth as she uttered a scream as if the action would have shoved the scream back into her throat. She stood in the middle of the room, a still figure in a flurry of movement. Guards had rushed in towards Susan's body as Peter uncharacteristically snapped that they stay back and tend to Oreius who was slumped, unmoving against the wall. Someone-Lucy wasn't sure who- demanded that Cyriacus be sent for.

Lucy, called by all 'valiant', was never one to be paralyzed in fear yet when her sister dropped like a discarded gown, Lucy could not even follow as Peter and Edmund rushed towards Su. She lingered in her spot for it didn't seem like all was well and the teenage monarch was not so inclined to let relief blind her fear. Whether that was bravery or cowardice, Lucy neither knew nor cared. She opened her mouth call her brothers back but Edmund spoke first.

"The gash isn't too deep." Ed reported with a slight note of relief on his voice.

Peter opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as Susan muttered, "Blimey." It was an expression that they hadn't heard since they were in Finchley. When Susan sat up, there was nothing amiss with her countenance. "How….?" She wondered in a daze.

Peter gazed over his shoulder and asked of a faun guard. "Has Cyriacus been summoned?"

The faun bowed, his eyes eyeing the Gentle warily. "I shall see that he comes faster." He rushed out, his haste to gather the court's physician could not hide the truth that he didn't want to be in the room any more than he had to did not escape the notice of Lucy.

"You alright?" Peter queried as he and Edmund helped their sister to her feet. Whatever held Susan, Lucy noticed that her brothers were sure that it had left. If they were confident all was well then why wasn't she? Could her heart not see what her mind saw? That Susan was fine? Shaken and bleeding, yes, but no worse for wear and far better off than some.

"I was standing at the mirror…" Susan muttered to nobody in particular. From outside, the lightning flashed and on the responding thunder the Pevensies heard Eadawig's screech in the night.

"Vitus." Susan whispered. Lucy stayed in her spot, no matter how much she willed her legs to move towards her sister it seemed that she was stayed. Susan continued, explaining. "I sent him to the Great Library for answers."

Edmund caught Peter's glance and nodded in recognition, both vaguely remembering speaking to Vitus of such a matter. But by the Lion, was he only just leaving? It felt as if he spoke to him days ago.

"Answers?" Lucy wondered flatly, trying her best not to let her voice crack with emotion. She stepped forward, finally finding her feet by suppressing her uneasiness. She stood close to her siblings and lowered her voice so only they could hear. "The time has long passed for answers! Peter had gouges on his chest, I've been thrown against the wall and choked, Susan, your arm was snapped in half, Dores and her unborn child died from being pushed down a flight of stairs, Waylon killed himself in grief, the Galaewe chicks and one of Avril's pups were mutilated and now some force had taken a hold of Su and assaulted Oreius! "

Cyriacus rushed in silently while Lucy spoke and immediately strode to the guardsmen tending the General as best as they could. Peter put a comforting arm around his youngest sister. She had never wanted to be close to Aslan so urgently before. Lucy always felt the Lion close despite the distance between Him and them but in the face of such evil, Lucy had never felt so abandoned.

"What would you have me do, Lucy?" Peter wondered diplomatically, fatigue breaking through in his voice.

Meanwhile, Edmund handed Susan a handkerchief for her head and helped her into an obliging seat. He summoned the faun guard who fetched Cyriacus. He hesitantly stepped forward. "Fetch some water for the Queen, if you would." He ordered. The faun guard obliged, all too quickly.

Edmund quickly dispatched the remaining guards and instructed them to help the Elderly Gentleman with crowd control. He assured them that Oreius would be fine and they could do nothing else to help. Within moments, Edmund returned to his siblings sides, praying that his words about the centaur weren't literal.

"Vitus was sent to find a way of defeating this-" Peter continued, gesturing to the room in to silently say 'the entity' without bringing to much attention to their conversation. "-if we cannot escape it."

"We can't afford to wait that long!" Lucy hissed. "With all that we and our court have suffered, what makes you think we'll fare better off here than in the storm?"

Peter gave a look to Susan and Edmund that said that Lucy had a point.

Meanwhile, across the room, the faun guard poured water from a stone pitcher into a golden goblet for the Gentle. Naught five feet away Cyriacus tended to the General. "Is he bad off, Cyriacus?" the faun wondered.

The physician looked up and sighed. "No worse than we are, my friend." His tone was grave and heavy and made the guard suppress a twinge of fear. "Panic ensues downstairs and I've seen firsthand what the forces here are capable of. He is merely unconscious with a few broken bones for it."

The faun nodded, lingering where he was. He opened his mouth to speak but the physician spoke first. "I am told a force held Queen Susan and it threw General Oreius."

The guard nodded silently, allowing his face to tell Cyriacus that the Queen Susan had been not herself since Waylon slit his throat. Cyriacus understood this. Speaking quietly he prayed. "May we be preserved by the Lion."

"By the Lion." The guard intoned, noticing Queen Lucy's cordial on the table he set the pitcher on. He knew it was given to her by Father Christmas and of its magical abilities. 'Such a gift, must be of Aslan…' the guard thought.

Before he could rationalize himself through his decision or even realize that he was indeed acting on a feeling, he quickly snatched the cordial and poured a single drop of it in the Queen's goblet. Almost instantly, the red liquid dissolved and had the casual observer looked at it, they would think the goblet held merely water. "By the Lion's Mane, forgive me if this is wrong…" He muttered.

"Come again?" Cyriacus questioned, not hearing what the guard was whispering. He was going to inquire on the guard's health for the physician noticed something was amiss with the fellow but his attention was drawn to Oreius who stirred.

As the guard neared the four monarchs, he heard King Edmund say, "Our main concern is to regain order among the court downstairs. Nothing can be done before this."

The four had formed a small tight knit clump by where Queen Susan sat cloth on her head to staunch the bleeding. Her head was rested on the back of her chair. Even though her eyes were closed, she nodded every so often as if to indicate that she was listening. King Peter, his arm still around Queen Lucy put his hand on one of the arms of Susan's chair. King Edmund flanked the other side of the chair, leaning at the chair's back. All looked worn to their limits and frightened and that did not sit well with the guard at all.

He hung back, waiting for the moment he wouldn't be interrupting.

"Ed has a point." Peter conceded, more to Lucy than the others. "Whether we stay or face the storm, we can't succeed with a panicked court, Lu."

Lucy shook her head, unconvinced. "It all seems like another reason to keep us here longer. It can't be coincidence that we searched the castle's every nook and cranny and find nothing; only for the remains to be found in the great hall that _happens _to hold our already frightened people."

"It was contrived…" Peter muttered, verbally absorbing the notion.

Edmund shook his head. While Peter was trying to calm and hold things together before acting, Edmund wanted to stop debating and get moving. "Contrived or not, let's just control the crowd so that if we decide to brave the storm we can do it properly."

At last Peter agreed and added with a final tone. "If we will brave better in the storm than here, then we need to be organized. I don't care what we leave behind, as long as we can get our subjects and ourselves out of this accursed place. "

"There's no need to have our subjects blood on our hands." Edmund added. The four of them were silent for not even a moment, Peter and Lucy appeared relieved that things would soon be over. They would be wet, but they would be over with Madame Lihi and the damned castle. There was a sort of finality in their hopes, as if they saw the light in the tunnel.

Then Susan looked up at Edmund and said casually, "You mean other than the blood that is already on your hands, Edmund?"

Startled, Edmund blinked. "What?"

Susan propped her chin up with her hand and looked up at Edmund with a sideways glance. "You could have stopped us…." She trailed off.

"I have a feeling that even if I had, we'd have still ended up in this situation." Edmund shot back. "We would still be in a check no matter how we moved our chess pieces. There's no use in you bringing this up _now_ of all times."

"What aren't you two telling us?" Peter warily demanded.

"Of course Ed wouldn't have told you…" Susan began.

Edmund exhaled from his nose in exasperation. "I witnessed Susan in the middle of conducting a séance with Dores this afternoon, she blackmailed for my silence and- By the Lion this sound so stupid right now!"

Lucy ducked out from under Peter's arm warily as the High King spoke. "You could not have stopped Su if it had already begun." His tone was silently angered and taken aback but Edmund was right; it felt as if they were puppets on a string. No matter if he'd have known about it, things couldn't have turned out different.

Susan imperiously gestured for the faun guard to step forward with the water. He stood close, trying not to visibly shiver when her hand touched his as he gave her the goblet. "True, that the little session opened the cracked door wider," Susan continued casually, "made it quite easy. But to be honest, I do love a challenge."

Peter began to back away slowly, his arm held out to shield Lucy and keep her back. "Ed," The High King began with his hand on his sword. "Ed, whatever that is, it's not Susan. Come away."

The Just seemed rooted in his spot though, as whatever held Susan continued though when she spoke, it was in Edmund's voice. " 'If you have the fortitude to do so," she quoted, "pick on somebody who is a decent opponent.' " She paused and raised the goblet as a toast. "Shall I test _your_ fortitude, boy?"

Edmund's hand moved to his sword as Susan raised the goblet with the cordial to her lips as quick as a breath, she gave an unworldly hiss and dropped the goblet, enraged. Her face contorted as if it wasn't Susan's face anymore. Her eyes darkened into black as a demonic scream filled the room.

"Qu-Queen Lucy!" The guard spoke hurridly, "Your cordial can heal any injury! I prayed it would heal the sou-" Quicker than any of the rooms inhabitants could see, Madame Lihi grabbed the faun by the head with a growl. Before the guard could finish his words, a sickening snap filled the room and the faun fell, his eyes wide and unseeing with shock and his head slightly askew from his body.

Now, every sword was raised and the guards stationed for the Pevensies rushed in, claws, teeth and weapons bared. They formed a barrier with their bodies between Lihi and the Kings and Queen.

Lihi then bared her own teeth and rushed the line. Lucy swore she didn't even see when the thing possessing Susan tore a lung and heart respectively from two of her most trusted bodyguards. It was as if she flew, quicker than anything Lucy could imagine.

Just as Lucy could wrap her mind around the fact that three more Narnians had been added to the rising toll, she noticed Lihi crawling the length of the ceiling towards them, limbs bent as if doing a crab walk. The thing within her sister stopped short just above Edmund and Lucy was sure other voices in the room screamed in tandem with her when Susan's head turned 180 degrees to look at them.

Susan's long hair fell down straight towards them , her crown practically hopelessly lost in a tangle of dark hair. When she spoke, a multitude of voices spoke. Lucy wasn't sure what chilled her more, the multitude of voices, the fact that she could hear Lihi's cursed voice as well or that Susan's own voice was mingled in with the many.

"I shall test your meddle, Son of Adam, Descendant in name to Queen Helen." Then the head snapped forward to eye the High King. "More will fall if it is intervened, Little King."

Lightning flashed close to the window. The light and the loud crack of it hitting something close was just as immediate as it was deafening. But the time the light subsided, only 2 Narnian out of four monarchs remained in a room drenched in the blood of their subjects.

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**As always, reviews are like virtual cake or Pringles…I always want more. (ok, it's 2:14 am, and I'm sure that analogy made NO sense.) Bottom line, sleep well, my dears, and let me know what you think. **


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